| |
| I LOVE it, I love it! and who shall dare | |
| To chide me for loving that old arm-chair? | |
| I ’ve treasured it long as a sainted prize, | |
| I ’ve bedewed it with tears, I ’ve embalmed it with sighs. | |
| ’T is bound by a thousand bands to my heart; | 5 |
| Not a tie will break, not a link will start; | |
| Would you know the spell?—a mother sat there! | |
| And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. | |
| |
| In childhood’s hour I lingered near | |
| The hallowed seat with listening ear; | 10 |
| And gentle words that mother would give | |
| To fit me to die, and teach me to live. | |
| She told me that shame would never betide | |
| With Truth for my creed, and God for my guide; | |
| She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, | 15 |
| As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. | |
| |
| I sat, and watched her many a day, | |
| When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray; | |
| And I almost worshipped her when she smiled, | |
| And turned from her Bible to bless her child. | 20 |
| Years rolled on, but the last one sped,— | |
| My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled! | |
| I learnt how much the heart can bear, | |
| When I saw her die in her old arm-chair. | |
| |
| ’T is past, ’t is past! but I gaze on it now, | 25 |
| With quivering breath and throbbing brow: | |
| ’T was there she nursed me, ’t was there she died, | |
| And memory flows with lava tide. | |
| Say it is folly, and deem me weak, | |
| Whilst scalding drops start down my cheek; | 30 |
| But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear | |
| My soul from a mother’s old arm-chair. | |
| |
