"Hiccory, diccory, dock!

The mouse ran up the clock.

The clock struck one, and down she run:

Hiccory, diccory, dock!"

She had her simple nest in a safe and cun-

ning place,

Away down in the quiet of the deep, old-

fashioned case.

A little crevice nibbled out led forth into

the world,

And overhead, on busy wheels, the hours

and minutes whirled.

High up in mystic glooms of space was

awful scenery

Of wires, and weights, and springs, and all

great Time's machinery;

But she had nought to do with these; a

blessed little mouse,

Whose only care beneath the sun was just

to keep her house.

For this was all she knew, or could; with-

out her, just the same

The earth's great centre drew the weight;

the pendulum went and came;

And days were born, and grew, and died;

and stroke by stroke were told

The hours by which the world and men

are ever growing old.

It suddenly occurred to her,—it struck her

all at once,—

That living among things of power, her-

self had been a dunce.

"Somebody winds the clock!" she cried

"Somebody comes and brings

An iron finger that feels through and fum-

bles at the springs;

"And then it happens; then the buzz is

stirred afar and near,

And the hour sounds, and everywhere the

great world stops to hear.

I don't think, after all, it seems so hard a

thing to do.

I know the way—I might run up and

make folks listen too."

She sprang upon the leaden weight; but

not the merest whit

Did all her added gravity avail to hurry it.

She clambered up the steady cord; it wav-

ered not a hair.

She got among the earnest wheels; they

knew not she was there.

She sat beside the silent bell; the patient

hammer lay

Waiting an unseen bidding for the word

that it should say.

Only a solemn whisper thrilled the cham-

bers of the clock,

And the mouse listened: "Hiccory! hie—

diccory! die—dock!"

Something was coming. She had hit the

ripeness of the time;

No tiny second was outreached by that ex-

ultant climb;

In no wise did the planet turn the faster to

the sun;

She only met the instant, but the great

clock sounded—"One!"

What then? Did she stand gloriously

among those central things,

Her eye upon the vibrant bell, her heel

upon the springs?

Was her soul grand in unison with that

resounding chime,

And her pulse-beat identical with the high

pulse of Time?

Ah, she was little! When the air first

shattered with that shock,

Down ran the mouse into her hole. "Hic,

diccory! die—dock!"

Too plain to be translated is the truth the

tale would show,

Small souls, in solemn upshot, had better

wait below.