Only through a poet’s verse do we understand what happened the
first Christmas night. John Milton’s poem, “The Hymn,” paints a
picture of what must have been.  “… No war, or battle's sound,
was heard the world around;¿The spear was high up-hung; hooked
chariot stood¿unstain'd with blood;¿  “The trumpet spake, not to
the armed throng;¿  “And kings sat; they surely knew their
sovereign Lord was by.  “But peaceful was the night; wherein the
Prince of Light, His reign of peace upon the earth began....”
On Christmas Eve in 1970 both sides of the fight assumed the
role of angels and proclaimed, for 12 hours, “Peace on Earth.”
The senseless slaughter of Vietnam was suspended during the
Christmas Truce. But nowhere in sight was there “Goodwill toward
men.”  Last year I wrote thoughts regarding the shroud of peace
that enveloped my Marines at a dusty firebase called Khe Sanh. I
recall enjoying moments of tranquillity and hope as my Marines
followed the rituals of cleaning weapons, playing cards and
staring into space