The morning was fine as a signalman went
To his post on the South Western line
Little thinking that ere that bright May Day had pass'd
His post he would have to resign
But on comes a train 'tis the London day mail
To stoppages mostly a stranger
It dashes along 'till it nears Gunner's box
When 'tis stopp'd by the signal of danger.
Chorus: What's wrong was the cry, but they got no reply.
That silence seem'd stranger and stranger,
They sought him and found Gunner dead at his post
With the signal hand pointing to danger.
Thirty years had he worked on the company's line
Thirty years at his post he was found,
In the heat of the summer in winter's cold frost
They found him there all the year round
He knew he must make no mistake for he had
Some thousands of lives in his keeping
And with his last strength he the signal pulled right
Tho' he felt death on was creeping
Had he failed at the last, had his signal been wrong
What would come of it, here no one can tell
Truly working his signal, although at death's door
His duty did nobly and well,
He knew that the train with her majesty's mails
Was now in full speed, its course wending
His life fleeting fast yet to duty e'er true
His last act, to his signals attending.