The Old Watch.

My Father's watch! Thy face is dear, And still thou speak'st to me The self-same words that met my ear, When in old times of joyous cheer I gladly climb'd his knee. For oft as to his side I clung, Thou wert mine own to hold, Though to my simple mind, thy tongue Uttering "tick, tick", to old and young Seem'd mystery untold. And still thy wondrous movements too Amaz'd my gazing eye, Thy hands that to their purpose true Their undeclining circles drew, Were magic strange and high. But thou from days of toil and care, That manhood's powers employ, Didst duly point him home to share The garden-walk, the fireside chair, The feast of social joy. When those whom most he loved were nigh, And with beguiling flight, The downy-pinioned hours swept by, Thou, with a calm, unswerving eye Didst note their numbers right. And he, who knew so well to test Of time, the fleeting prize, Did on thy meek monitions rest And take their wisdom to his breast, And gird him for the skies. But now, no more serenely sweet He turns to thee for aid, Yet still thy bloodless heart doth beat. Though summon'd to a lone retreat His own in dust is laid. My Father's Friend! what memories bless'd Thy lingering accents wake, Here, in my sacred casket rest, Or slumber on my filial breast, Most honour'd for his sake.