A Carol from Flanders

A CAROL FROM FLANDERS In Flanders on the Christmas morn ⁠The trenchèd foemen lay, The German and the Briton born— ⁠And it was Christmas day. The red sun rose on fields accurst, ⁠The gray fog fled away; But neither cared to fire the first, ⁠For it was Christmas day. They called from each to each across ⁠The hideous disarray (For terrible had been their loss): ⁠"Oh, this is Christmas day!" Their rifles all they set aside, ⁠One impulse to obey; 'Twas just the men on either side, ⁠Just men—and Christmas day. They dug the graves for all their dead ⁠And over them did pray; And Englishman and German said: ⁠"How strange a Christmas day!" Between the trenches they did meet ⁠Shook hands, and e'en did play At games on which their hearts are set ⁠On happy Christmas day. Not all the Emperors and Kings, ⁠Financiers, and they Who rule us could prevent these things— ⁠For it was Christmas day. O ye who read this truthful rime ⁠From Flanders, kneel and say: God speed the time when every day ⁠Shall be as Christmas day. —Frederick Niven