Grandfather's Clock

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 pennyweight 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.

In watching its pendulum swing to and
fro, many hours he had spent while a boy.
In childhood and manhood the clock seemed
to know and to share in his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four as he entered at
the door with a blooming and beautiful bride.
But it stopped short never to go again when the old man died.

My grandfather said that of those he
could hire, not a servant so faithful he found.
It wasted no time but had just one
desire at the close of each week to be wound.
It kept in its place not a frown upon its
face and its hands never hung by its side.
But it stopped short never to go again when the old man died.

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 of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time with a soft and
muffled chime, as we silently stood by his side.
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.
(Sad clock chimes)