Came the relief. 'What, sentry, ho!
How passed the night through thy long waking?'
'Cold, cheerless, dark,--as may befit
The hour before the dawn is breaking.'

'No sight? no sound?' 'No; nothing save
The plover from the marshes calling,
And in yon western sky, about
An hour ago, a star was falling.'

'A star? There`s nothing strange in that.'
'No, nothing; but, above the thicket,
Somehow it seemed to me that God
Somewhere had just relieved a picket.'

More verses by Francis Bret Harte