The Unremembered Dead
By ELLA A. FANNING.
"For those who die in war, and have none to pray for them."—Litany.
We lay a wreath of laurel on the sward,
Where rest our loved ones in a deep repose
Unvexed by dreams of any earthly care,
And, checking not our tears, we breathe a prayer,
Grateful for even the comfort which is ours—
That we may kneel and sob our sorrow there,
And place the deathless leaf, the rarest flowers.
Though Winter's cruel fingers brown the sod,
It's dearer far than all the world beside!
Forms live again—we gaze in love and pride
On youthful faces prest close to our own.
Eyes smile to ours; we hear each tender tone,
Grief's smart is softened—less the sense of loss.
This grave we have, at least; we're not alone!
And they must know of our unchanging love—
Our tender thought—our memory—our prayers!
And in our constancy, ah! each one shares
To whom death comes on distant battlefields,
When life's last breath not even the solace yields—
"There's one who'll mourn for me—whose tears will flow!"—
Not even a grave is theirs, unnamed, unwept!
God rest their souls—the dead we do not know!