1.
Into the ward of the clean whitewash'd halls,
Where the dead slept and the dying lay;
Wounded by bayonets, sabres and balls,
Somebody's darling was borne one day.
Somebody's darling so young and so brave,
Wearing yet still on his sweet yet pale face,--
Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave,
The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.

CHORUS
Somebody's darling--Somebody's pride--
Who'll tell his mother where her boy died.

2.
Matted and damp are his tresses of gold,
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips of most delicate mould,
Somebody's darling is dying now.
Back from his beautiful purplevein'd brow,
Brush off the wand'ring waves of gold;
Cross his white hands on his broad bosom now.
Somebody's darling is still and cold.

(CHORUS)

3.
Give him a kiss, but for Somebody's sake,
Murmur a prayer for him, soft and low;
One little curl from its golden mates take,
Somebody's pride they were once you know;
Somebody's warm hand has oft rested there,
Was it a mother's, so soft and white?
Or have the lips of a sister, so fair,
Ever been bath'd in their waves of light?

(CHORUS)

4.
Somebody's watching and waiting for him,
Yearning to hold him again to her breast;
Yet, there he lies with his blue eyes so dim,
And purple, child-like lips half a-part.
Tenderly bury the fair unknown dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;
Carve on the wooden slab over his head,
Somebody's darling is slumbering here.

(CHORUS)

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