It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
It 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,
But it stopped, short,
Never to run again
When the old man died.

In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours he had spent when a boy;
And through childhood and manhood, the clock seemed to know,
And to share both his grief and his joy.

For it struck 24 when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and a beautiful bride;
But it stopped, short, never to again,
When the old man died.

My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
Not a servant so faithful he'd found,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
For it had perfect time,
And it had one desire,
At the close of each day to be wound.

And it kept to it's place, not a frown upon it's face,
And it's hands never hung by it's side;
But it stopped, short, never to go again ,
When the old man died.

It rang an alarm, in the still 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,
Tick ,tock, tick, tock,
With a muffled chime,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
As we silently stood by his side.
But it stopped, short, never to go again,
When the old man died.