From the Evening Star, November 27, 1914. By Philander Johnson.
My Uncle Jim, he has a clock.
He bought it years ago.
It used to sound a smart “tick tock,”
But now it’s kept for show.
It used to move with nimble hands
To count the minutes o’er,
But now its record always stands
At strictly half-past four.
“It’s weary now,” said Uncle Jim.
“It did its work right well;
And fading into memories dim
Are tales it used to tell.
It sort of halted on the way
It went so well of yore.
And, finally, it stopped one day
Right there, at half-past four.
“That is the hour when I awoke
To greet the dawn anew,
And next, the hour that softly spoke
Of toiling almost through.
My old clock tells of early day
Of the rest in store;
And so I simply let it stay
Content at half-past four.”