| now my grandfathers' clock
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| was too large for the shelf
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| so it stood 90 years on the floor
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| it was taller by half than the old man himself
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| though it weighed not a pennyweight more
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| now it was bought on the morn
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| of the day that he was born
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| and it was always his treausure and pride
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| but it stopped short never to go again
|
| when the old man died
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| oh now my grandfather said
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| that of those he could hire
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| not a servant so faithful he found
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| for it wasted no time
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| and it had but one desire
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| atn the close of each week to be wound
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| and it kept in its place
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| not a frown on his face
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| and his hands never hung by its side
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| but you know that it stopped short
|
| never to go again
|
| when the old man died
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| now rang an alarm
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| in the dead of the night
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| an alarm that for years had been dumb
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| and we that his spirit
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| was 'plumming' for flight
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| that his hour for departure had come
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| still that clock kept the time
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| with a soft and muffled chime
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| as we solemnly stood by his side
|
| but you know that it stopped short
|
| never to go again
|
| when the old man died
|
| you know that it stopped short
|
| never to go again
|
| when the old boy died |