Grandfather's clock

I thought that I would post a poem today. I did not write it, but I really like it.This is also a song with a beautiful tune.

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.

 

Chorus:

Ninety years without slumbering--

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

His life seconds numbering--

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

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 as a boy;

And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know

And to share in his grief and his joy,

For it struck twenty-four when he entered 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,

For it wasted no time and had but one desire--

At the end of each week to be wound.

And 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 the 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;

But it stopped short--never to go again--

When the old man died.

 

Ninety years without slumbering--

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

His life seconds numbering--

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

It stopped short--never to go again--

When the old man died.

 

By Henry Clay Work

 

 

Isn't  it  a wonderful poem?