The midnight hour, the darkest hour
That human grief may know,
Sends forth it’s hurried summons-
Ask me to come—I go!
I know not when the bell may toll,
I know not where the blow may fall,
I only know that I must go
In answer to the call.
Perhaps a friend—perhaps unknown-
‘Tis fate that turns the wheel-
The tangled skein of human life
Winds slowly on the reel.
And I? – I’m the undertaker,
“Cold-Blooded,” you’ll hear them say,
“Trained to the shock and chill of death,
With a heart that’s cold and grey.”
Trained—that’s what they call it
How little they know the rest-
I’m human, and know the sorrow
That throbs in the aching breast.