 | Songs of two centuries |  |
53
FIXING THE CLOCK.
It's jest as fawther said it was—they's somethin' here that's wrong;
The gran'ther-clock is ailin' sir—we're glad you come along.
It stood an' sulked a week or two, an' wouldn't tick or ring,
Or run its han's aroun' its face, or do a blessed thing.
The gran'ther-clock is ailin' sir—we're glad you come along.
It stood an' sulked a week or two, an' wouldn't tick or ring,
Or run its han's aroun' its face, or do a blessed thing.
It's old enough to hev a rest, as people say, you know;
We often think it started out a thousan' year ago.
An' Cousin Pete, who sets an' tells us stories in the dark,
He wonders ef it give the time for Noarh in the ark.
We often think it started out a thousan' year ago.
An' Cousin Pete, who sets an' tells us stories in the dark,
He wonders ef it give the time for Noarh in the ark.
We're glad it's goin' to start ag'in; for when it ain't no good,
It makes a sort o' friendly fuss all through the neighborhood;
The folks inquire as if 'twas folks, an' stop us on the way,
An' anxiously they ask us how the ol' clock is today.
It makes a sort o' friendly fuss all through the neighborhood;
The folks inquire as if 'twas folks, an' stop us on the way,
An' anxiously they ask us how the ol' clock is today.
They's lots o' time-machines aroun' that have a deal o' lack,
An' need a steady gran'ther-clock to keep 'em on the track;
I've seen folks stan' out in the road, an' wait an' listen like,
To set their watch by this 'ere clock, as soon's they heard it strike.
An' need a steady gran'ther-clock to keep 'em on the track;
I've seen folks stan' out in the road, an' wait an' listen like,
To set their watch by this 'ere clock, as soon's they heard it strike.
We're glad it stopped, though; so's that you could take it all apart,
An' we could see its thinkin' works, an' where it kep' its heart;
An' why, before it's goin' to strike, four minutes an' a half,
It sort o' up an' chuckles, like, as ef it meant to laugh;
An' we could see its thinkin' works, an' where it kep' its heart;
An' why, before it's goin' to strike, four minutes an' a half,
It sort o' up an' chuckles, like, as ef it meant to laugh;
An' how it keeps the memory good, although it's got so old,
An' how it knows the moon is new, or full o' yeller gold;
An' tells it with its picture-moons, so's we can know it nigh
As well as ef we went out-door an' found it in the sky;
An' how it knows the moon is new, or full o' yeller gold;
An' tells it with its picture-moons, so's we can know it nigh
As well as ef we went out-door an' found it in the sky;
54
An' ef it ever has the blues, alone there night an' day,
An' how it come to know the facts, when baby went away;
For half the night there through the dark a-cryin' in our bed,
We heard it talkin' to itself—“She's dead—she's dead—she's dead!”
An' how it come to know the facts, when baby went away;
For half the night there through the dark a-cryin' in our bed,
We heard it talkin' to itself—“She's dead—she's dead—she's dead!”
An' then I guess I went to sleep, an' dreamed a little while,
An' thought I saw her in the clouds, an' knew her by her smile;
An' when the surprise woke me up—'twas maybe six or seven—
It changed its mind, an' says to me, “In Heaven—in Heaven—in Heaven!”
An' thought I saw her in the clouds, an' knew her by her smile;
An' when the surprise woke me up—'twas maybe six or seven—
It changed its mind, an' says to me, “In Heaven—in Heaven—in Heaven!”
| Songs of two centuries | |