My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor___
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn' of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride___
But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died.
ninety years without slumbering (tick, tock, tick, tock),
his life seconds numbering (tick, tock, tick, tock),
It stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many years he had spent when a boy.
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know,
And to share both his grieve and his joy.
For it struck twenty four when he entered the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servent so faithful he found.
For it waisted no time and had one but desire:
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in it's place, not a frown upon its face,
And his hands never hung by his side.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night,
An alarm that for years had been dumb.
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight,
That his hour for departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time,
With a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side.