God of Heaven! what is this
Sounding through the frosty air,
In a cadence stern and slow,
From the figure looming there!
"Sentry, thou hast spoken well"—
Through the mist the answer came—
"I am wrinkled, grim, and old,
May'st thou live to be the same!
"Thou art here to keep a watch
Over prowlers coming nigh;