When my last song is finished,
And my heart has lost its fire,
When passion is diminished,
And dead is all desire,
I pray with Death there’s no belating,
To keep the undertaker waiting.
I have no dread of dying,
But, O, I fear to think
That long I’ll be kept lying
Worn out upon the brink,
What time the sexton’s spade doth rust,
And he must drink his ale on trust.