Let us never forget all of our men and the women who serve in the military who are away from their families this Christmas. I am so grateful for each and every one of them who is fighting so that I can enjoy the freedom to celebrate the one true King this Christmas (and everyday for that matter). I found this poem that was written in 1862 during the Civil War. It was written by William Gordon McCabe. It reminds me that while we're opening gifts, shopping, enjoying the festivities, there is someone out there missing their loved one. Let us be mindful in our prayers for the families who have a loved one that is serving in the military and for those brave people out there serving our country. God bless America.
Christmas Night of 1862
by William Gordon McCabe (Confederate Soldier)
(1841-1920)
by William Gordon McCabe (Confederate Soldier)
(1841-1920)
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.
My sabre swinging overhead
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow,
And memory leads me to the dead.
My thoughts go wandering to and fro,
Vibrating between the Now and Then;
I see the low-browed home again,
The old hall wreathed with mistletoe.
And sweetly from the far-off years
Comes borne the laughter faint and low,
The voices of the Long Ago!
My eyes are wet with tender tears.
I feel again the mother-kiss,
I see again the glad surprise
That lightened up the tranquil eyes
And brimmed them o’er with tears of bliss,
As, rushing from the old hall-door,
She fondly clasped her wayward boy
Her face all radiant with the joy
She felt to see him home once more.
My sabre swinging on the bough
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow
Aslant upon my saddened brow.
Those cherished faces all are gone!
Asleep within the quiet graves
Where lies the snow in drifting waves,
And I am sitting here alone.
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.”
But there are none to wish me back,
For me no yearning prayers arise.
The lips are mute and closed the eyes–
My home is in the bivouac.
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.
My sabre swinging overhead
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow,
And memory leads me to the dead.
My thoughts go wandering to and fro,
Vibrating between the Now and Then;
I see the low-browed home again,
The old hall wreathed with mistletoe.
And sweetly from the far-off years
Comes borne the laughter faint and low,
The voices of the Long Ago!
My eyes are wet with tender tears.
I feel again the mother-kiss,
I see again the glad surprise
That lightened up the tranquil eyes
And brimmed them o’er with tears of bliss,
As, rushing from the old hall-door,
She fondly clasped her wayward boy
Her face all radiant with the joy
She felt to see him home once more.
My sabre swinging on the bough
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow
Aslant upon my saddened brow.
Those cherished faces all are gone!
Asleep within the quiet graves
Where lies the snow in drifting waves,
And I am sitting here alone.
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.”
But there are none to wish me back,
For me no yearning prayers arise.
The lips are mute and closed the eyes–
My home is in the bivouac.
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