Gary Jacobson

GOD REST YE MERRY NAM GENTLEMEN

God rest Ye Merry Nam Gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Rejoicing in battle’s cacophonous din
Remembering the Savior born on Christmas day
O, jubilation the Lord Christ did bring us
Warriors receiving God’s exultation and traumas
Glad tidings of comfort and joy ~
Comfort and joy…

But there is little glee that I can see
No in-country joy for this war weary boy.

For, O God, men here want to kill us…
With the dust from which we came reunite us
With rockets of lightning’s radiance
Wearing bricky-thin our patience
Illuminating our day
Where we have gone astray
Stalking our combat patrol mid rolling thunder
With heavenly exclamation’t makes us boys wonder.

O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
But there is little delight in this fearful night
No joy to be had for this weary war torn boy.

O God rest Ye Merry Nam Gentlemen
In this vile world of killing’s sin
Shadowing in tempest, storm, and wind
That grunts to hell and back do send
Dodging bullets from merry little elves
Carrying assorted exploding abrasives.
There will be no holly jolly Christmas
Just ringing in our ears fearful combat dogmas.
The shootin’ don’t ‘xactly make us with bliss gay
O face now war’s great ecstasy dismay.

For there is no silent night
On this blessed eve of fright
Where we combat shepherds of the right
Go with duty to the fight
O God, save us all from Satan’s power
Arise from where we in foxholes cower
Lift us up on this night of a blue, blue Christmas
All us boys just thinkin’ ‘bout our mommas
Boys lost in our green Christmas jungle
Spreadin’ out so one round won’t get us all when we mingle.

O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
But there is little delight in this fearful night
No joy to be had for this weary war torn boy.

Blessed angel’s came
In God, our Heavenly Father’s name
Unto certain shepherds
To bring peace to Cong swineherds
Abiding in their jungle, doing duty just the same
Singing, heralding
We laud the Son Of God by name
Take us to Bethlehem
Where the sacred babe was born
Like us, by oppressive evil shorn.

O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
But there is little delight in this fearful night
No joy to be had for this weary war torn boy.