Classic Poem

I gazed forth from my wintry tent
Upon the star-gemmed firmament;
I heard the far-off sentry's tramp
Around our mountain-girdled camp
And saw the ghostly tents uprise
Like specters 'neath the jeweled skies.
And thus upon the snow-clad scene,
So pure and spotless and serene,
Where locked in sleep ten thousand lay
Awaiting morn's returning ray, —
I gazed, till to the sun the drums
Rolled at the dawn, " He comes, he comes. "