The Ticking of the Clock

Far from friends and comrades, Far away from home, None to cheer my loneliness As I sit here alone. For me there is no cheerful voice, There’s no familiar knock; All that breaks the silence Is the ticking of the clock. Ah! what memory comes to me With that clock ticking there; It has ticked away our joy; It will tick away our care. First, when a little infant, With instinct shrewd and quick, I said, “Papa, let me listen To the tick, tick, tick.” As a boy, quite full of mischief, By teacher called a fool, I’d watch the old clock on the wall To let me out of school. Later, as a youth when courting, The maid who had my heart, When I’d hear the clock strike ten, It meant, “Young man, depart.” Next, as a broker, I have watched The rise and fall of stock; A fortune lost, another gained, To the ticking of the clock. Now that I am old and gray, With Heaven alone to gain; Life’s voyage nearly ended, That old clock ticks the same. It ticked through all my sorrow, It ticked through all my strife, It ticked through my prosperity, It ticks away my life. It ticked when I was healthy, It ticked when I was sick; All through life I’ve always heard That tick, tick, tick. There it stands a-ticking, Ticking night and day; Ticking us along through life— Ticking life away. These memories now hang o’er me, As I sit here by myself And listen to the ticking Of the clock upon the shelf.