Santa Claus

Halt! Who goes there? The sentry's callRose on the midnight airAbove 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 roamThe whole world over far and wide,To exiles all at Christmastide,From those who love them tenderlyI bring a thought of home.

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

'From faithful wife and loving lassI bring a wish divine,For Christmas blessings on your head.''I wish you well,' the sentry said,But here, alas! you may not passWithout the countersign.'

He vanished — and the sentry's trampRe-echoed down the line.It was not till the morning lightThe soldiers knew that in the nightOld Santa Claus had come to campWithout the countersign.