The Soldiers Christmas Eve

In a southern forest gloomy and old,

So lately the scene of a terrible fight,

A soldier, alone in the dark and cold,

Is keeping the watch tonight.

As he paces his round he sees the

Of his comrades' campfire, gleaming far,

Through the dusky  wood, and one bright

Looks down with a twinkle of light and

From the frosty sky that bends above.

Large, clear and bright in the far off

It twinkles and glimmers there

Like the blessed Bethlehem star that

On the sheperd's wondering eyes.

As he watches it slowly, sweetly

His heart is touched by its gentle ray.

And away, away,

His thoughts on the wings of fancy stray,

He forgets the night with its frosty air,

And cheerless blast, that every

Moans loud through the branches black and bare,

He is thinking now of the little

In his boyhood home, whose faces

Are beaming with happiness as they

Round the Christmas tree tonight,

And he seems to join with the happy

In each innocent game and mirthful song.

Ah! vision as bright as fairy land!

Like a broken dream, it will not stay,

He raises his weather-beaten

And dashes a tear away,

And he feels anew, all his terrible lot -Exposed to the pestilence, snow and rain,

Enduring fatigue, and fever and pain.

And standing each day to be shot -And all for what?

For what does he give his strength and lifein the deadly strife?

To defend the home where the loved ones

From the fire and sword and the ravage of war,

To defend his home and the land of his birth,

To pride of the earth,

And solemnly

To avenge her flag, by the traitors torn,

Of its ancient glory shamefully shorn.

Such thoughts through the soldiers mind have passed.

He feels no longer the chilling blast,

The driving sleet or the frozen ground.

For his blood is beating fiercly and

As he quickens his round.

He pines no longer for home and rest -A patriot's spirit has warmed his breast.

This poem was written on Christmas Eve 1862 and appeared in The Poughkeepsie Telegraph on December 27, 1862.