I

My Grandfather’s Clock

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 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 seconds numbering
        (tick, tock, tick, tock)
     It stopped, short never to go again
     When the old man died

My grandfather said that of those he could hire
Not a servant so faithful he found
For it wasted no time and had but one desire
At the close 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 rang and alarmed in the dead of the night
An alarm that for years had been dumb
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight
That his hour for departure had come

Still the clock kept the 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.

II

Poor Kitty Popcorn

Did you ever hear the story of the loyal cat? Meyow!
Who was faithful to the flag, and ever follow’d that? Meyow!
Oh, she had a happy home beneath a southern sky,
But she pack'd her goods and left it when our troups came nigh,
And she fell into the column with a low glad cry, Meyow!

     Poor Kitty Popcorn!
     Buried in a snow drift now
     Never more shall ring the music of your charming song, Meyow!

Round her neck she wore a ribbon -- she was black as jet -- Meyow!
And at once a gallant claim'd her for a soldier's per -- Meyow!
All the perils of the battle and the march she bore,
Climbing on her master's shoulder when her feet were sore,
Whisp'ring in his with wonder at the cannon's roar, Meyow!

Now the "cruel war is over," and the troups disband -- Meyow!
Kitty follows as a pilgrim in the northern land -- Meyow!
Ah! but sorrow overtakes her, and her master dies,
While she sadly sits a gazing in his dim blue eyes,
Till by strangers driven rudely from the door, she cries, Meyow!

So she wanders on the prairie till she sees his form -- Meyow!
Carried forth and buried roughly 'mid the driving storm -- Meyow!
Oh! her slender frame, it shivers in the northern blast,
As she seeks the sandy mound on which the snow falls fast,
And alone amid the darkness there she breathes her last Meyow! 

— Henry Clay Work