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.
Ninety years without slumbering (tick, tock, tick, tock), His life's 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 hours had he spent while a boy; And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know And to share both his grief and his joy. For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door, With a blooming and beautiful bride; 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.
But it stopped short — never to go again — When the old man died.