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.
