The Secret of the Passing Hours

“You want to know where the hours go,

As they vanish softly away?

To a wonderful land that you’ve never seen,

To the mystical city of Tickerleen,

Where every hour of every day,

Recounts his life in a manner gay,

And deports himself in the oddest way—

The pleasantest way, I mean.

28“For they sing, ‘Ha, ha,’ and they dance tra la—

You’d laugh at the things they do—

And they tell in a manner quite sublime—

For they talk in prose and sing in rhyme—

The stories of what they’ve all been through,

And every word that they tell is true,

With a guarantee trademark right in view,

And signed by Father Time.

“And I’ve heard it said, though I shouldn’t care

To be quoted in this regard,

That the musty tales of dry old fools

From histories used in the public schools,

With their beauty gone and their interest marred,

Are, candidly speaking, thrown down hard,

And scornfully, rigidly, justly debarred

By wisely ordered rules.

“And the hours from every single age,

They assemble at Tickerleen,

And recount their tales of ancient lore,

Of actual things they really saw,

Which nobody living now has seen,

Which you couldn’t find in a magazine,

To our aged king and his beauteous queen,

In the land of Tockerlore.”

29“And is it far to that wonderful land?”

Said the little boy on the floor;

“To Tickerleen, in the land of Tock—

Of—What do you call it?—Lore?

And will the hours ever come back,

Or never be heard of more?”

“Not one has ever been known to leave,

Or even try to get out;

Why, some have been there a thousand years,

Or a million, or thereabout,

And whether they’d even like to return

Is a matter of gravest doubt.

“But I’ll tell you what,” said the laughing Imp,

“As you seem to be fully dressed,

And as I’m just starting for Tockerlore

Where all of the hours rest,

I’d be glad to have you visit me there,—

Suppose you be my guest.

“For the rules of our land are very strict,

And the sentinels stern and grim;

And the hour Three must always land

Before the light grows dim,

And if Four O’clock were to find me here

It would more than stagger him.

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“And he’s coming on at a dreadful pace,

He’s now almost half way;

If he were to find me standing here

’Twould upset the time of day.

And old Father Time would be all confused,

And I can’t think what he’d say.”

And the words he spoke as he started up

Were as true as words can be,

For there he’d sat for a half an hour;

“Come, be my guest,” said he,

And the little boy was about to speak

When the clock struck half past three.

“Come on,” said the Imp, as he turned to go,

“It’s a magical, wondrous land

Where you’ll see the strangest, queerest things—

That’s right, I’ll help you stand!”

And he lifted the little boy right up,

And he took him by the hand.

And then he escorted that little boy,

Like a real professional guide,

To the clock, and then—unlocked the door

31And gallantly stalked inside,

And catching the swinger, he held it fast;

“And now,” said he, “for a ride!”

And then there happened a curious thing,

And I hope you will not fail

To credit each word that I’m telling you,

For confidence must prevail;

And there on that swinger, as one might say,

There hangs the entire tale.

As the Imp took hold of the shiny disk

He uttered a magical word,

(Protected, I’m told, by copyright)

Which the boy had never heard;

It was most a yard and a quarter long,

And it sounded quite absurd.

But whatever that singular word might be,

(And I do not pretend to say)

The swinger at once began to act

In a most suspicious way,

For it grew as large as a cannon ball,

And began to slowly sway.

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“Jump on!” said the Imp to the little boy,

“There isn’t a minute to spare;

Be quick! for in just a second more

That swinger’ll be in the air.”

But the little boy didn’t mind the Imp,

For he simply didn’t dare.

And he said to the Imp, “Before I start

I am anxious to ascertain,

When I’ve seen the sights of Tockerlore

May I come back home again?

For I don’t want to stay away for good;

Will they force me to remain?”

33“Jump on!” said the Imp, with a laughing face,

“For the land that you’re going to see

Is strongly opposed to all restraint,

And its citizens all agree

That tourists arriving from other worlds

Should be entirely free.”

So the little boy jumped with all his might,

And he presently sat astride

The long thin stem of the shiny ball

To make sure he wouldn’t slide;

And he felt quite gay as he smiled at the Imp

Who sat on the other side.

And grasping the stem with his little hands,

The little boy presently saw

The furniture near him growing dim

On the disappearing floor,

And they swung to right! And they swung to left!

And he heard the clock strike four.

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