By Rev. L.T. Newland Union Point, GA, December 1950
He crouches in
his foxhole, cold
and peers at mountains bleak and old.
Around the snow lies thick and white,
it is a soldier's Christmas night.
For angel's songs a whistling shell,
For"Peace on Earth" the hellish yell
Of killers drugged with assigned hate,
Dear God, did Christmas come too late?
"Oh Little Town" the thought is blurred
As childish memories are stirred,
while well-taught hands the death march play
Against the foe, this Christmas day
The dead ask"why"at Christmas tide
Some strangers fought and some have died
Some strangers fought and some have died
For Peace on Earth, good will to men,
A homesick boy cries,"Where, Oh when?"
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