The Undistinguished Dead
Dedicated to the Friends of the Dead and Wounded Volunteers of the 15th Mass. Reg’t
by Livie Darling

Printed in the Webster Weekly Times,  Nov. 8, 1862  (Volume IV # 35)


The peal of the clarion awakens no more, and the reveille calls in vain,
The music of battle and cannons roar, they never will hear again.
Far from the homes they loved so well, far from the friends that weep,
On the field where hundreds fought and fell, they sleep in a dreamless sleep.

There names were in a long sad list, that yesterday I read,
And I saw the name of a boy I kissed numbered among the dead;
And my heart beat quick, and then the throbs seemed to die in the pain away,---
I saw with pride that “fighting with face to the foe “ he fell that day.

“He fell in a noble cause,” I said, and I breathed an inward prayer,
That God would give with the terrible grief strength enough to bear.
He was my all my only one, and the sacrifice is done,---
But ”fighting with face to the foe, he fell, cheering his comrades on.”

Mother, I fathom your grief by mine —I know the terrible pain,--
But we know that they fell in a glorious cause, and that we shall meet again.
Sister, I know what it is to loose one who has been a guide.
In childhood and youth, and on whom I leaned with the deepest trust and pride.

‘Tis sad to part from those we love to know them among the slain;
But we know they fell for Liberty —that their duty was bravely done,
That “fighting with face to the foe they fell cheering their comrades on.”

“Missing”, the column that next I saw, and I knew what hopes and fears,
Were clustered around each single name that in the list appears.
Hope, that the missing would come again, --and lonely tears were shed,
Lest unnoticed, forgotten, unnumbered there, they sleep in a gory bed.

And I pity you, mothers, more and more, for your grief must be bitter to bear,
For were he numbered amoung the dead, you would know he was safe from care;
For time might ease the lonely grief and lull the dreary pain,--
But he’s missing—a prisoner, perhaps or numbered among the slain.

“Wounded’---I pity you, mothers, now —you who are reading the list,--
Wounded!---you know by your fathomless love that a mothers care is missed;
Sick, and strangers beside his couch, and his mother far away!
I pity you! All you can do is weep and wait, and hope and pray.

But God who tempers the wind to the lamb; and marketh the sparrows fall,
Is by you now—he will lighten your grief and answer if you call.
you must go to him—you must learn to pray, to bow to his wisdom and power;
And he will be with you and lift you up, in the midnight of sorrows hour.



15th Massachusetts VI