Classic Poem

Clock of the household, the sound of thy bell
Tells the hour, and to many 'tis all thou canst tell;
But to me thou canst preach with the tongue of a sage,
And whisper old tales from life's earliest page.
Thou bringest back visions of heart-bounding times,
When thy midnight stroke chorused the loud-carolled chimes;
When our Christmas was noticed for festival mirth,
And the merry New Year had a boisterous birth.

Thou hast broke on my ear through the dead of the night,
Till my spirit, out-wearied, has prayed for the light;
When thy echoing tone, and a mother's faint breath,
Seemed the sepulchre tidings that whispered of death.
I have listened to thee, when my own pillowed brow
Was wild in its throbbing and deep in its glow;
When the madness of fever, and anguish of pain,
Left a doubt if I ever should hear thee again.

Thou hast always been nigh: thou hast looked upon all,
On the birth — on the bridal — the cradle — and pall:
To the infant at play and the sire turning gray,
Thou hast spoken the warning of " passing away. "
My race may be run, when thy musical chime
Will be still ringing out in the service of Time;
And the clock of the household will chime in the room,
When I, the forgotten one, sleep in the tomb!