(1820-1897)
Halt!--the march is over,Day is almost done;Loose the cumbrous knapsack,Drop the heavy gun.Chilled and wet and weary,Wander to and fro,Seeking wood to kindleFires amidst the snow.
Round the bright blaze gather,Heed not sleet or cold;Ye are Spartan soldiers,Stout and brave and bold.Never Xerxian armyYet subdued a foeWho but asked a blanketOn a bed of snow.
Shivering, 'midst the darkness,Christian men are found,There devoutly kneelingOn the frozen ground--Pleading for their country,In its hour of woe--For the soldiers marchingShoeless through the snow.
Lost in heavy slumbers,Free from toil and strife,Dreaming of their dear ones--Home, and child, and wife--Tentless they are lying,While the fires burn low--Lying in their blankets'Midst December's snow.