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 pleasure 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 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 as he entered in the door With his blushing 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 more true could be 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 struck an alarm in the dead of the night An alarm that for years had been dumb And we knew that his spirit was poised for its flight That the hour of departure had come Still the clock kept strict 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