‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the camp,

The snow it was flying, our clothes were all damp,

Our wet clothes were hung near the stovepipe with care,

In hopes they would dry in the meager hot air.

 

The prisoners were shivering, so cold in their bunks,

While visions of summertime caused such a funk,

But Carter had his gloves, and I my crush cap,

Even Newkirk was not up for a nice game of craps.

 

When out by the gate there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bunk to see what was the matter,

Away to the old sink I flew like a hound,

Pulled up on the faucet to scan the compound.

 

The moon was so bright and we had lots of snow,

And I could see everything the camp had to show,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

A big German truck with eight prisoners for here.

 

With a skinny young driver, so strong and so able,

He waved at old Schultz, who looked downright miserable,

Schultz trudged to the truck looking tired of the game,

To the prisoners he shouted and called them by name.

 

Raus Wilson! Raus Simmons! Raus Walker and Dixon!

Schnell Davis! Schnell Blackman! Schnell Saunders and Nixon!

To the barracks with you! Get on out of the cold!

Now raus with you! Raus with you! You are not that old!

 

As cold as it was they hastened to budge,

Right towards our small barracks they started to trudge,

They huddled together, their impatience grew,

Their coats wrapped around them, and Schultz followed too.

 

And then in a moment, I heard by the door,

The stomping and grumbling, the men sure were sore,

As I pushed down the faucet and was turning around,

Through the door old Schultzie came with a bound.

 

He was wearing his greatcoat, all dingy and gray,

And his clothes were all sprinkled with powdered snow spray,

His little used rifle he had flung on his back,

And he looked at us all as we lay in the sack.

 

His eyes looked so tired, all red and quite teary,

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry,

The lines of his mouth were drawn up like a bow,

We could tell he was glad to get out of the snow.

 

The stubble of moustache he had ‘neath his nose,

Was sprinkled with gray, and was damp from the snow,

He had a broad face and a big fat round belly,

That shook, when he chuckled like a bowlful of jelly.

 

He was chubby and plump, not your typical Kraut,

And I laughed when I saw him looking so tuckered out,

His helmet was dripping, but stayed on his head,

As he moved through the barracks, we stayed in our beds.

 

He spoke not a word, and made not a peep,

As he pointed the prisoners to bunks for their sleep,

Then warming his fingers by our meager fire,

He gave us a nod then he walked towards the door.

 

He pulled open the door and the wind blew right in,

We shivered and shook since our blankets were thin,

But I heard him exclaim as he turned off our lights,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”