The midnight hour, the darkest hour
That human grief may know,
Sends forth its hurried summons,
Asks 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 mortician,
"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.