They were somebody’s pride you know.
Somebody’s hand had rested there,—
Was it a mother’s, soft and white?
And have the lips of a sister fair
Been baptized in those waves of light?
God knows best; he has somebody’s love;
Somebody’s heart enshrined him there;
Somebody wafted his name above,
Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.
Somebody wept when he marched away,