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,
and it weight not a penny's weight more.
It was bought on the morn that my grandpa 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,
his life's seconds numbering -
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'd found,
for it wasted no time and it had but one desire:
at the close of each week to be wound.
Yes, it kept in its place, with 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.
Then 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.
Yes, the clock kept the time,
with a soft and muffled chime,
as we stood there and watched by his side -
But it stopped short never to go again
when the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering,
his life's seconds numbering -
but it stopped short never to go again
when the old man died.