"HALT! Who goes there?” The sentry’s call <br />Rose on the midnight air <br />Above the noises of the camp, <br />The roll of wheels, the horses’ tramp. <br />The challenge echoed over all— <br />“Halt! Who goes there?” <br />A quaint old figure clothed in white, <br />He bore a staff of pine, <br />An ivy-wreath was on his head. <br />“Advance, oh friend,” the sentry said, <br />“Advance, for this is Christmas night, <br />And give the countersign.” <br /> <br />“No sign nor countersign have I, <br />Through many lands I roam <br />The whole world over far and wide, <br />To exiles all at Christmastide, <br />From those who love them tenderly <br />I bring a thought of home. <br /> <br />“From English brook and Scottish burn, <br />From cold Canadian snows, <br />From those far lands ye hold most dear <br />I bring you all a greeting here, <br />A frond of a New Zealand fern, <br />A bloom of English rose. <br /> <br />“From faithful wife and loving lass <br />I bring a wish divine, <br />For Christmas blessings on your head.” <br />“I wish you well,” the sentry said, <br />“But here, alas! you may not pass <br />Without the countersign.” <br /> <br />He vanished—and the sentry’s tramp <br />Re-echoed down the line. <br />It was not till the morning light <br />The soldiers knew that in the night <br />Old Santa Claus had come to camp <br />Without the countersign.<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/santa-claus/
