Years ago the Bard of Avon said that all the world's a stage
Men and women merely players, golden youth and silvered age
And amid the living pictures, sad and solemn, grave and gay
First and foremost as an actor, take the postman of today
Down the street with cheery footsteps, on his daily round he goes
Bearing life maybe to someone, to another, death, who knows?
Welcomed by the waiting lover standing yonder on the mat
Prince and ploughman, peer and peasant, love to hear that smart rat-tat.

Chorus: From morning till night thro' that gay city's hum
Up to the palace and down to the slum
That busy messanger's certain to come
As sure as the tick of the clock
That cheery summons we all love so well
Brings in the sunshine and rings in the knell
And if you'll permit I'll endevour to tell
Some echoes we hear from the postman's knock.

Monday morning, Gooseberry Terrace, time, a little after eight
Onward comes the sturdy postman, for a wonder, somewhat late
Fact is he's been extra busy, and the reason you'll divine
Feb. the 14th, Cupid's birthday, don't you know St Valentine?
Just behind the kitchen window, stands Matilda Mary Ann
Wond'ring if the post will bring her something nice from her young man
There he is, he's past the railings, then she hears the longed-for knock
Up she flies and grasps the treasure, ere he drops it in the box.

Chorus: 'Good morning, Matilda, you're early I guess
Here's something for you, its your name and address
It's a valentine, ain't it? May I look? Say 'yes'.'
He stands there as firm as a rock
She tears off the end and the valentine shows
A google-eyed female with raspberry nose
Who's nursing a something in infantile clothes
That's the echo she gets from the postman's knock.

Further on the postman passes, knocking loudly here and there
Sometimes at the lordly mansion, sometimes at the garret bare
Brisk and business like as ever, now his bag is light'ning fast
Only two more to deliver, then he's done his round at last
There's no box on yonder door there, so he has to knock and wait
Till a man in smart apparel comes up from the area gate
Takes the letter from the postman, goes inside to break the seal
Let us enter to discover what that letter will reveal,

Chorus: Quickly he reads it then clenches his hands
No time to fly as his safety demands
There at that moment in fancy he stands
There in the prisoner's dock
With the firm's money he gambled and fell
He the cashier whom they trusted so well
All that is left him is death or a cell
That's the echo he hears from the postman's knock.

Only one more to deliver, only one more af all the pack
But 'tis fraught perchance with sadness, for alas, 'tis edged with black
Who can gauge the depths of sorrow such an envelope imparts
To the boldest, to the oldest, to the hardest human hearts
Up the pathway to the almshouse, where a woman, old and grey
Waits and watches for a message from her laddie far away
Lo, he knocks and then he enters - 'Shall I read it to you?' 'Yes.'
And his heart grows chill and heavy, for 'tis marked, O.H.M.S.

Chorus: 'Madam, I beg to regretfully say
Your son died at sea on the 14th of May.'
She utters no sound, then he feels with dismay
She'll never survive the shock
He calls her by name, then he pulls down the blind
The stillness proclaims that spirit so kind
Has flown to her boy on the wings of the wind
Like an echo that dies from the postman's knock.
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