 | Songs and ballads |  |
THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.
Oh! the old, old clock, of the household stock
Was the brightest thing and neatest;
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold,
And its chime rang still the sweetest.
'T was a monitor, too, though its words were few,
Yet they lived, though nations altered;
And its voice, still strong, warned old and young,
When the voice of friendship faltered!
Tick, tick, it said,—quick, quick, to bed,
For ten I've given warning;
Up, up, and go, or else, you know,
You'll never rise soon in the morning.
Was the brightest thing and neatest;
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold,
And its chime rang still the sweetest.
'T was a monitor, too, though its words were few,
Yet they lived, though nations altered;
And its voice, still strong, warned old and young,
When the voice of friendship faltered!
21
For ten I've given warning;
Up, up, and go, or else, you know,
You'll never rise soon in the morning.
A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling;
But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly,
When the dawn looked grey o'er the misty way,
And the early air blew coldly;
Tick, tick, it said,—quick, out of bed,
For five I've given warning;
You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth,
Unless you're up soon in the morning.
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling;
But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly,
When the dawn looked grey o'er the misty way,
And the early air blew coldly;
Tick, tick, it said,—quick, out of bed,
For five I've given warning;
You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth,
Unless you're up soon in the morning.
Still hourly the sound goes round and round,
With a tone that ceases never;
While tears are shed for the bright days fled,
And the old friends lost for ever.
Its heart beats on,—though hearts are gone
That warmer beat and younger;
Its hands still move,—though hands we love
Are clasped on earth no longer!
Tick, tick, it said,—to the churchyard bed,
The grave hath given warning,—
Up, up, and rise, and look to the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning!
With a tone that ceases never;
While tears are shed for the bright days fled,
And the old friends lost for ever.
Its heart beats on,—though hearts are gone
That warmer beat and younger;
Its hands still move,—though hands we love
Are clasped on earth no longer!
Tick, tick, it said,—to the churchyard bed,
The grave hath given warning,—
Up, up, and rise, and look to the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning!
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