"Spirit of Christmas Past"A Soldier's Poem
Bivouac in the snow by Mort Kuntsler
Next.. If you have time for nothing else, don't miss "A Confederate Christmas"Christmas Night of 1862
by William Gordon McCabe
(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.
AppomattoxI stand here on this dusty road, My rifle by my side. They say we must surrender And yet I'm filled with pride. In knowing deep within my heart, I gave my Southland all, Like every man who took up arms And answered Freedoms' call.
I've worn the gray most proudly And loved our banners dear. To give them up and walk away, The thought brings me to tears. The worst for our brave men. At least we'll all be going home, To be with Kith and Kin.
Throughout the years that follow, This tragic fateful day, We'll be proud of our fair flag And how we wore the gray. In the spring of 1862, the hopes that the war
would be over by Christmas were dashed on the field of battle that previous year. The 1st Battle of Manassas/Bull Run was a bloody event where the Union generals learned that tactics and strategy would win the day over the assumption that sheer numbers would swing the victory to their side. Experience and the ability of the Southern generals to lead would make the South stand and fight, not to give in to the Northern blockade of their ports in the South. The fight for the Mississippi River began in earnest this year. The battle to capture New Orleans, the battle of Shiloh, Antietam, Stonewall Jackson's Shenandoah Valley campaign, and the bloody battle of Fredricksburg, where the ground laid littered with the Union dead, were all in 1862. Thus the war went on. 
I went to Rose Hill yesterday, To seek our Honored Dead. They rest upon a hillside, Our standard overhead.
The "Stars & Bars", so beautiful, Majestically it waved, So proud a banner, for the rights, These men had fought to save.
The weathered headstones, all in rows, So silent in their places, Inscribed with companies, regiments, And names upon their faces.
I sat there on that hill awhile, Beneath the flag above, To honor all the men below, And the standard they did love .Back Next
Credit: All art by the talented
Mort Kuntsler
