I read this poem in my union paper one year, which is usually filled with socialistic tripe, but this time they actually printed something I could relate to. It was written by Lance Corporal James Schmidt, and is a variation on his original one, and was published in the 'Leatherneck' magazine in 1991. It is about our soldiers in Afghanistan, but I think it could be for all those serving all over the world. I feel sorry for them, since they have to regurgitate the drivel given by the government, and, therefore, cannot express their beliefs in God anymore without being punished. This soldier has nailed the sentiments. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Keep these brave people in your prayers.
Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
and to see just who in this home did live.
No stocking hung by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a sober thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room is such disorder,
not how I pictured a United States Soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families that I saw this night
owed their lives to these soldiers
who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas Day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice;
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more.
my life is my God, my Country, my Corps."
The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still
and we both shivered from the cold night's chill.
I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas Day; all is secure."
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my friend,
and to all a good night."
I'd like to add something this year. It concerns the Infant beliefs in Italy, for one. This one is about the 'Divine Bambino'. Enjoy:
The Church of Santa Maria di Ara Coeli on the Capitoline Hill in Rome is built on the ruins of ruins of a temple to Juno Moneta, on the steps of which the Roman Senate used to meet (and where, by the way, Roman coins used to be minted, hence our word "money"). According to legend, the earliest extant text of which derives from the late 4th century, Emperor Augustus, consulted the Tiburtine Sibyl -- the sibyl who prophecied from the town of Tibur (the modern town of Tivoli) -- after he learned he was to be honored as a god. The Sibyl prophesied that "the King of the Ages" would soon come, and as she did, the Emperor had a vision of the Virgin standing on an altar, surrounded by a bright halo and holding the Infant. A voice said: "This is the altar of the Son of God." An altar to this future King was raised on the pagan site and became known as the "Altar of Heaven" (Ara Coeli). And of course, Our Lord was born during Augustus's reign.
In the 6th century, a church was built over the site. Over the ages, it was enlarged, first housing Byzantine monks, then the Benedictines, and then the Franciscans, who still tend the place today.
Inside this church is housed a statue of the Baby Jesus carved in the 15th century by a Franciscan friar in Jerusalem, from an olive wood tree that is said to have grown in the Garden of Gethsemani. It is said that the friar ran out of paint when he was making it, and so angels came and finished it while he slept. It is also said that when it was being transported from the Holy Land to Rome, it fell overboard when the ship that was carrying it was caught in a storm -- only to wash up on the shores of Livorno, at the feet of the Franciscan who was awaiting its arrival.
Down through the centuries, the statue became associated with many miraculous cures, and it was often carried to the bedsides of those who were sick or dying (this used to be effected by transporting the image in a golden carriage dedicated by the people of Rome just for this purpose; now a less ornate carriage is used). Letters and prayer requests are sent from all over the world to the church of Santa Maria di Ara Coeli to be placed near the statue as a sign of prayer.
The chapel of the Holy Bambino is continually visited by pilgrims from all parts of the world. Mothers, before giving birth, visit Aracoeli to receive a special blessing and also bring their children to be consecrated to the Divine Child. From time immemorial, the Bambino, like I said, has been carried to the sick-bed of the faithful and oftentimes one could see in the Campidoglio Square a long line of carriages awaiting their turn.
The ever-increasing fame of this miraculous image moved Pope Leo XIII and the Vatican to order its coronation which took place with solemn rites on May 2, 1897. This fame is attested to by the numerous letters of petition and thanksgiving which the Divine Infant receives daily from devout people from all corners of the globe; the little ones and the great of the world write to Him as to a dear friend. During Christmas time the children of Rome uninterruptedly come before the crib to sing jubilantly to the new-born Babe.
The statue is kept in the sacristy (a copy sits in a private chapel on the premises), but on Christmas Eve, it is brought out and unveiled at the sound of the Gloria, processed to a nativity scene, placed in Mary's lap, and kept there until the Feast of the Epiphany (6 January). On that day, the statue is taken to the top of the staircase outside the church so that Romans might blow it kisses as the zampognari and pifferai (bagpipers and flautists) play, and then returned to its private chapel. Nowadays, all of these purposes are served by use of a second copy, as the original was stolen in February of 1994.
Prayer to the Santo Bambino
Divine Bambino,
In my difficulties: help me
From the enemies of my soul: save me
In my errors: enlighten me
In my doubts and pains: comfort me
In my solitudes: be with me
In my infirmities: invigorate me
When others despise me: encourage me
In temptations: defend me
In difficult hours: strengthen me
With your Sacred Heart: love me
With your immense power: protect me
And, into your arms,
when I die: receive me.
Amen
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my friend,
and to all a good night."
Let's not forget those who can't be home during these times.
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