Related quotes: "HALT! Who goes there?” The...

Santa Claus

"HALT! Who goes there?” The sentry’s call
Rose on the midnight air
Above the noises of the camp,
The roll of wheels, the horses’ tramp.
The challenge echoed over all—
“Halt! Who goes there?”
A quaint old figure clothed in white,
He bore a staff of pine,
An ivy-wreath was on his head.
“Advance, oh friend,” the sentry said,
“Advance, for this is Christmas night,
And give the countersign.”

“No sign nor countersign have I,
Through many lands I roam
The whole world over far and wide,
To exiles all at Christmastide,
From those who love them tenderly
I bring a thought of home.

“From English brook and Scottish burn,
From cold Canadian snows,
From those far lands ye hold most dear
I bring you all a greeting here,
A frond of a New Zealand fern,
A bloom of English rose.

“From faithful wife and loving lass
I bring a wish divine,
For Christmas blessings on your head.”
“I wish you well,” the sentry said,
“But here, alas! you may not pass
Without the countersign.”

He vanished—and the sentry’s tramp
Re-echoed down the line.
It was not till the morning light
The soldiers knew that in the night
Old Santa Claus had come to camp
Without the countersign.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Related quotes

Two Rogues

Dim, grim, and silent as a ghost,
The sentry occupied his post,
To all the stirrings of the night
Alert of ear and sharp of sight.
A sudden something-sight or sound,
About, above, or underground,
He knew not what, nor where-ensued,
Thrilling the sleeping solitude.
The soldier cried: 'Halt! Who goes there?'
The answer came: 'Death-in the air.'
'Advance, Death-give the countersign,
Or perish if you cross that line!'
To change his tone Death thought it wise
Reminded him they 'd been allies
Against the Russ, the Frank, the Turk,
In many a bloody bit of work.
'In short,' said he, 'in every weather
We've soldiered, you and I, together.'
The sentry would not let him pass.
'Go back,' he growled, 'you tiresome ass
Go back and rest till the next war,
Nor kill by methods all abhor:
Miasma, famine, filth and vice,
With plagues of locusts, plagues of lice,
Foul food, foul water, and foul gases,
Rank exhalations from morasses.
If you employ such low allies
This business you will vulgarize.
Renouncing then the field of fame
To wallow in a waste of shame,
I'll prostitute my strength and lurk
About the country doing work
These hands to labor I'll devote,
Nor cut, by Heaven, another throat!'

poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Countersign

Alas! the weary hours pass slow,
The night is very dark and still;
And in the marshes far below
I hear the bearded whippoorwill;
I scarce can see a yard ahead,
My ears are strained to catch each sound;
I hear the leaves about me shed,
And the spring's bubbling through the ground.

Along the beaten path I pace,
Where white rags mark my sentry's track;
In formless shrubs I seem to trace
The foeman's form with bending back,
I think I see him crouching low:
I stop and list - I stoop and peer,
Until the neighboring hillocks grow
To groups of soldiers far and near.

With ready piece I wait and watch,
Until my eyes, familiar grown,
Detect each harmless earthen notch,
And turn guerillas into stone;
And then, amid the lonely gloom,
Beneath the tall old chestnut trees,
My silent marches I resume,
And think of other times than these.

Sweet visions through the silent night!
The deep bay-windows fringed with vine.
The room within, in softened light,
The tender milk-white hand in mine;
The timid pressure, and the pause
That often overcame our speech -
That time when by mysterious laws
We each felt all in all to each.

And then that bitter, bitter day
When came the final hour to part;
When clad in soldier's honest gray,
I pressed her weeping to my heart;
Too proud of me to bid me stay,
Too fond of me to let me go, -
I had to tear myself away,
And left her, stolid in my woe.

So rose the dream - so passed the night -
When, distant in the darksome glen,
Approaching up the sombre height
I heard the solid march of men;
Till over stubble, over sward,
And fields where lay the golden sheaf,
I saw the lantern of the guard
Advancing with the night relief.

'Halt! Who goes there?' My challenge cry,
It rings along the watchful line;
'Relief!' I hear a voice reply;
'Advance and give the countersign!'
With bayonet at the charge I wait -
The corporal gives the mystic spell;
With arms aport I charge my mate,
Then onward pass, and all is well.

But in the tent that night awake,
I ask, if in the fray I fall,
Can I the mystic answer make
When the angelic sentries call?
And pray that Heaven may so ordain,
Where'er I go, what fate be mine,
Whether in pleasure or in pain,
I still may have the countersign.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Camps Of Green

NOT alone those camps of white, O soldiers,
When, as order'd forward, after a long march,
Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessen'd, we halted for the
night;
Some of us so fatigued, carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping
asleep in our tracks;
Others pitching the little tents, and the fires lit up began to
sparkle;
Outposts of pickets posted, surrounding, alert through the dark,
And a word provided for countersign, careful for safety;
Till to the call of the drummers at daybreak loudly beating the
drums,
We rose up refresh'd, the night and sleep pass'd over, and resumed
our journey,
Or proceeded to battle. 10

Lo! the camps of the tents of green,
Which the days of peace keep filling, and the days of war keep
filling,
With a mystic army, (is it too order'd forward? is it too only
halting awhile,
Till night and sleep pass over?)

Now in those camps of green--in their tents dotting the world;
In the parents, children, husbands, wives, in them--in the old and
young,
Sleeping under the sunlight, sleeping under the moonlight, content
and silent there at last,
Behold the mighty bivouac-field, and waiting-camp of all,
Of corps and generals all, and the President over the corps and
generals all,
And of each of us, O soldiers, and of each and all in the ranks we
fought, 20
(There without hatred we shall all meet.)

For presently, O soldiers, we too camp in our place in the bivouac-
camps of green;
But we need not provide for outposts, nor word for the countersign,
Nor drummer to beat the morning drum.

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Red Zouave

The stars were bright, the breeze was still,
The cicada and the whippoorwill,
Alone disturbed the scene;
A streamlet down the dark ravine,
Hasted the gloomy spot to shun,
And bear its little tribute to Cub Run.

The wayward step of one astray,
He scared the whippoorwill away.
A soldier reels to the little rill,
And tries his sordid cup to fill,
Then dizzily pitches across the branch,
Too weak his mortal wound to staunch.

He wakes anon, but weaker yet,
For the stones with his oozing gore is wet,
Feebly he feels for his stolen store,
In his shirt, made redder by his gore!
But long ere the midnight cloud grows dark,
The Red Zouave lies stiff and stark.

Why did the dying miscreant stare?
Why stood upright his clotted hair?
He sees a phantom sentinel,
A skeleton-man and musket as well,
And the ghostly cry, Halt! who goes there?
Made his glazing eyeballs wildly glare.

The sentry's laugh was shrill, yet brief,
Ere he spoke these words to the dying thief:
'I left old England long years ago,
Where I plundered and plundered both high and low;
To escape at once from my crimes and fears,
I enlisted with Braddock for seven years.

'We crossed the sea and we cut a road,
Where there never had been a christian abode,
On our march, we encamped on a wooded height;
You lay at the very same place last night;
I stole from a comrade a half a crown,
And was whipped as a thief, till the blood ran down.

'I swore for revenge as we marched along;
The jeers of the men made my vengeance strong:
So Braddock I marked, when we lost the fight,
And shot him through ere I took to flight;
I wandered this terrible wilderness through,
And died of my wounds here, as you will do.

'Though I saw our Sergeant-Major fall,
By some hidden Indian's rifle ball,
Yet plainly I heard him say, 'Murderer! Thief!
Stand sentinel here, till Hell sends you relief;
You shall challenge the panther, who prowls for his prey,
You shall challenge the savage and fright him away.

''You shall challenge the bat as he wheels -
On his flight - and the serpent that steals -
By your desolate post. Without fail
You shall halt! the storm, wind and hail.
[As they whistle and drift through your marrowless bones,]
And the turbulent stream, in its rush o'er the stones.'

'Then I shrank in my terror and asked in my grief,
How long will it be, ere you send my relief?
Then the spectre cursed me again and again,
For he seemed to delight in my mortal pain:
'I will tell you,' he said, 'assassin and thief,
When Hell will turn out your sentry relief.

''Over Braddock's road, will pass a throng,
Better armed than our army and tenfold as strong.
Over Braddock's road, will drift the same day,
The wreck of that army, fleeing away.
And Braddock's defeat is forever forgot,
In the tenfold more shameful rout of Scott.

''You will see a wounded miscreant run
From the battle-field, without firing a gun;
He has robbed a dead comrade and driven his blade,
Through his officer wounded, and begging for aid;
He will die on this rock, and his infamous ghost,
Will relieve you (a century hence) on this post.''

Then the skeleton musket and ramrod rang,
On the rock with the Zouave's dying pang,
And soon the morning sun gleamed fair,
On his pallid brow and his shaven hair
Whilst his stiffened fingers closely hold
A picture fair and a piece of gold,
[And the picture smiled and the red gold shone,
As they did in the eyes that first called them their own.]

Now creep to the edge of that dark ravine,
And say what those ghostly voices mean,
A nice and transcendental ear,
This dialogue then very plainly hear:

Zouave. Halt! who comes here to cross this line?

Bravo. Friend with the pass-word and countersign.

Zouave.Friend with the countersign advance.
He knew his ghostly friend at a glance.

Bravo. No sentinel posted will ever again,
Here the countersign, 'Braddock.' or the pass-word, 'Duquesne.'
Each spectre must give, as he passes this spot,
The parole of dishonour, 'MANASSAS and SCOTT.'

poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shut-Eye Sentry

Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant
To the Senior Orderly Man:
"Our Orderly Orf'cer's ~hokee-mut~,
You 'elp 'im all you can.
For the wine was old and the night is cold,
An' the best we may go wrong,
So, 'fore 'e gits to the sentry-box,
You pass the word along."

So it was "Rounds! What Rounds?" at two of a frosty night,
'E's 'oldin' on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" Oh, ain't 'e drippin' tight!
'E'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by.

The moon was white on the barricks,
The road was white an' wide,
An' the Orderly Orf'cer took it all,
An' the ten-foot ditch beside.
An' the corporal pulled an' the sergeant pushed,
An' the three they danced along,
But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box,
So I didn't see nothin' wrong.

Though it was "Rounds! What Rounds?" O corporal, 'old 'im up!
'E's usin' 'is cap as it shouldn't be used, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" Ho, shun the foamin' cup!
'E'll need, etc.

'Twas after four in the mornin';
We 'ad to stop the fun,
An' we sent 'im 'ome on a bullock-cart,
With 'is belt an' stock undone;
But we sluiced 'im down an' we washed 'im out,
An' a first-class job we made,
When we saved 'im, smart as a bombardier,
For six-o'clock parade.

It 'ad been "Rounds! What Rounds?" Oh, shove 'im straight again!
'E's usin' 'is sword for a bicycle, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" 'E's called me "Darlin' Jane"!
'E'll need, etc.

The drill was long an' 'eavy,
The sky was 'ot an' blue,
An' 'is eye was wild an' 'is 'air was wet,
But 'is sergeant pulled 'im through.
Our men was good old trusties --
They'd done it on their 'ead;
But you ought to 'ave 'eard 'em markin' time
To 'ide the things 'e said!

For it was "Right flank -- wheel!" for "'Alt, an' stand at ease!"
An' "Left extend!" for "Centre close!" O marker, shut your eye!
An' it was, "'Ere, sir, 'ere! before the Colonel sees!"
So he needed affidavits pretty badly by-an'-by.

There was two-an'-thirty sergeants,
There was corp'rals forty-one,
There was just nine 'undred rank an' file
To swear to a touch o' sun.
There was me 'e'd kissed in the sentry-box,
As I 'ave not told in my song,
But I took my oath, which were Bible truth,
I 'adn't seen nothin' wrong.

There's them that's 'ot an' 'aughty,
There's them that's cold an' 'ard,
But there comes a night when the best gets tight,
And then turns out the Guard.
I've seen them 'ide their liquor
In every kind o' way,
But most depends on makin' friends
With Privit Thomas A.!

When it is "Rounds! What Rounds?" 'E's breathin' through 'is nose.
'E's reelin', rollin', roarin' tight, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it is "Pass! All's well!" An' that's the way it goes:
We'll 'elp 'im for 'is mother, an' 'e'll 'elp us by-an'-by!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Warrior Spector

In the misty gloom,
of the battlefield's morn.
From my post I spied,
shadowy sentry standing tall, alone.

Cold 'n' damp was the fog.
That watch I was sure,
some coffee would appreciate.
toward the figure, I approached.

Our password I announced,
Seemed to me, he acknowledged.
To his station I advanced.
Yet, no sound he made, of recognitioin.

As between us, the distance closed.
Heavier the mist appeared, to grow.
Harder he became, to detect.
Upon reaching his post, I discovered.

The sentry I had seen, now vanished.
All around I looked, to no avail.
Yet where he once stood, dead enemy lay.
Again, into the mist I peered, shadowy sentry stood.

21Nov10

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Golgotha

Through darkness curves a spume of falling flares
That flood the field with shallow, blanching light.
The huddled sentry stares
On gloom at war with white,
And white receding slow, submerged in gloom.
Guns into mimic thunder burst and boom,
And mirthless laughter rakes the whistling night.
The sentry keeps his watch where no one stirs
But the brown rats, the nimble scavengers.

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Watchers

I heard the challenge 'Who goes there?'
Close kept but mine through midnight air
I answered and was recognized
And passed, and kindly thus advised;
'There's someone crawling though the grass
By the red ruin, or there was,
And them machine guns been a firin'
All the time the chaps was wirin',
So Sir if you're goin' out
You'll keep you 'ead well down no doubt.'

When will the stern fine 'Who goes there?'
Meet me again in midnight air?
And the gruff sentry's kindness, when
Will kindness have such power again?
It seems as, now I wake and brood,
And know my hour's decreptitude,
That on some dewy parapet
the sentry's spirit gazes yet,
Who will not speak with altered tone
When I am last am seem and known.

poem by Edmund Blunden
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Hey Santa

If everyday was christmas
If we could make believe
If everyone would care a little more
Thered be harmoney
The city is covered in snow tonight
The children fast asleep
Im waiting for him, but hes nowhere in sight
And I wonder if he can hear me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
I wish with all my might
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
Bring my baby home tonight
Why does it feel like its colder than winter
Even by the fireside
My baby said hed be home for christmas
And now its almost midnight
The christmas lights up and down the street
Are such a sight to see
But all the presents by the tree
They dont mean a thing till hes with me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
I wish with all my might
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
If you hear me wont you hurry
Bring my baby tonight
I know your sleigh is full inside
But wont you stop and give my baby a ride
Ill be waiting by candle light this christmas
The christmas lights up and down the street
Are such a sight to see
But all the presents by the tree
They dont mean a thing
Santa please hear me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
I wish with all my might
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
If you hear me wont you hurry
Bring my baby tonight
The christmas lights up and down the street
The presents by the tree
I hear a knock, oh can it be?
My wish is staring back at me
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
I guess you heard me tonight
Hey santa
Hey santa...santa
Im underneath the mistletoe
With my baby tonight
Sleigh ride...
Its christmas time...

song performed by by Wilsons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sleep On!

Fear no unlicensed entry,
Heed no bombastic talk,
While guards the British Sentry
Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk.
Let European thunders
Occasion no alarms,
Though diplomatic blunders
May cause a cry "To arms!"
Sleep on, ye pale civilians;
All thunder-clouds defy:
On Europe's countless millions
The Sentry keeps his eye!

Should foreign-born rapscallions
In London dare to show
Their overgrown battalions,
Be sure I'll let you know.
Should Russians or Norwegians
Pollute our favoured clime
With rough barbaric legions,
I'll mention it in time.
So sleep in peace, civilians,
The Continent defy;
While on its countless millions
The Sentry keeps his eye!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Here Comes Santa Claus

(words & music by autry - haldeman)
Here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Right down santa claus lane.
Vixen, blitzen, all his reindeer
Pulling on the reins.
Bells are ringing, children singing,
All is merry and bright.
Hang your stockings and say a prayer,
'cause santa claus comes tonight.
Here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Riding down santa claus lane.
He's got a bag that's filled with toys
For boys and girls again.
Hear those sleigh bells jingle jangle,
What a beautiful sight.
Jump in bed and cover up your head,
Because santa claus comes tonight.
Here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Riding down santa claus lane.
He doesn't care if you're a rich or poor boy,
He loves you just the same.
Santa knows that we're god's children,
That makes everything right.
Fill your hears with christmas cheer,
'cause santa claus comes tonight.
Well, here comes santa claus, here comes santa claus,
Riding down santa claus lane.
He'll come around when the chimes ring out
It's christmas morn again.
Peace on earth will come to all
If we just follow the light
Let's give thanks to the lord above,
'cause santa claus comes tonight.
'cause santa claus comes tonight

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A White Christmas

'Twas the night before christmas.
With a blanket of white.
That covered the earth all through the night.
The trees sparkled like diamonds.
With a glitter so bright.
That each little twinkle made its own christmas light.
A hope and a prayer a white christmas would be.
Awaiting the dawn so all could see.
The beauty and joy a white christmas does bring.
To the holiday season as carolers sing.
For twas the night before Christmas.
God answered your prayer.
With a blanket of white.
Placed with God's loving care."

poem by Carla Jean Laglia Esely
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Give Love On A Christmas Day

people making lists, buying special gifts,
It's a time to be kind to one and all
It's that time of year when good friends are dear
And you wish you could give more
Than just presents from a store
Why don't you give love on christmas day (on christmas day)
Oh even the man who has everything
Would be so happy if you would bring
Him love on christmas day (on christmas day)
No greater gift is there than love
People you don't know smiling out hello
Everywhere there's an air of christmas joy
It's that once a year, when the world's sincere
And you'd like to find a way
To show the things that words can't say
Why don't you give love on christmas day (on christmas day)
The man on the street and the couple upstairs
All need to know that there's one cares
Give love on christmas day (christmas day)
No greater gift is there than love
What the world needs is love
Yes the world needs your love
Why don't you give love on christmas day (on christmas day)
Oh every little child on santa's knee
Has room for your love underneath his tree
Give love on christmas day (christmas day)
No greater gift is there than love
What the world needs is love
Yes the world needs your love
Give love on christmas day (christmas day) ...
(fade)

song performed by by New Edition
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Soldier's Valentine

Just from the sentry's tramp
(I must take it again at ten),
I have laid my musket down,
And seized instead my pen;
For, pacing my lonely round
In the chilly twilight gray,
The thought, dear Mary, came,
That this is St. Valentine's Day.

And with the thought there came
A glimpse of the happy time
When a school-boy's first attempt
I sent you, in borrowed rhyme,
On a gilt-edged sheet, embossed
With many a quaint design,
And signed, in school-boy hand,
'Your loving Valentine.'

The years have come and gone,-
Have flown, I know not where, -
And the school-boy's merry face
Is grave with manhood's care;
But the heart of the man still beats
At the well-remembered name,
And on this St. Valentine's Day
His choice is still the same.

There was a time- ah, well!
Think not that I repine
When I dreamed this happy day
Would smile on you as mine;
But I heard my country's call;
I knew her need was sore.
Thank God, no selfish thought
Withheld me from the war.

But when the dear old flag
Shall float in its ancient pride,
When the twain shall be made one,
And feuds no more divide,-
I will lay my musket down,
My martial garb resign,
And turn my joyous feet
Toward home and Valentine.

poem by Horatio Alger Jr
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Beleaguered City, The

I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.

But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.

Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.

Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.

And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Voices Of The Night : The Beleaguered City