From the grieving, youthful voice of William McCabe, a Richmond poet,

The wintry blast goes wailing by.
The snow is falling overhead;
.......
The soldiers cluster round the blaze
To talk of other Christmas days,
And softly speak of home and home.
My thoughts go wandering to and fro,
Vibrating 'twixt the Now and Then;
I see the low-browed home agen,
The old hall wreathed with mistletoe.
......
My eyes are wet with tender tears.
There 's not a comrade here to-night
But knows that loved ones far away
On bended knees this night will pray:
"God bring our darling from the fight."