The wintry blast goes wailing by,
The snow is falling overhead;
I hear the lonely sentry's tread,
And distant watch-fires light the sky.
Dim forms go flitting through the gloom;
The soldiers cluster round the blaze
To talk of other Christmas days,
And softly speak of home and home.
* * *
There's not a comrade here to-night
But knows that loved ones far away
On bended knee this night will pray:
"God bring our darling from the fight."
Illustration: "Christmas Eve, 1862" by Thomas Nast, published in Harper's Weekly, January 3, 1863, pp. 8-9.
Verse: Excerpts from "Christmas Night of '62," by William Gordon McCabe (1841-1920), via civilwarpoetry.org.
Come back tomorrow for something a little more cheerily seasonal.