IT stands in the corner of grandma's room;

From the ceiling it reaches the floor;

"Tick-tock," it keeps saying the whole day long,

"Tick-tock," and nothing more.

Grandma says the clock is old, like herself;

But dear grandma is wrinkled and gray,

While the face of the clock is smooth as my hand,

And painted with flowers so gay.

Backward and forward, this way and that,

You can see the big pendulum rock:

"Tick-tock," it keeps saying the whole day long,

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!"

The clock never sleeps, and its hands never rest

As they slowly go moving around;

And it strikes the hours with a ding, ding, ding,

Ding, ding, and a whirling sound.

I wonder if this is the same old clock

That the mousie ran up in the night,

And played hide-and-seek till the clock struck one,

And then ran down in a fright?