Into a ward of the whitewashed walls Where the dead and the dying lay- Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls- Somebody's darling was borne one day. Somebody's darling! so young and so brave, Wearing still on his pale, sweet face- Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave- The lingering light of hes boyhood's grace.
Matted and damp are the curls of gold, Kissing the snow of that fair young brow; Pale are the lips of delicate mould- Somebody's daring is dying now. Back from the beautiful blue-veined face Brush every wandering, silken thread; Cross his hands as a sign of grace- Somebody's darling is still and dead!
Kiss him once for Somebody's sake; Murmur a prayer, soft and low; One bright curl from the cluster take- They were Somebody's pride, you know. Somebody's hand hath rested there;
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