I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm chair,
I've treasured it as a holy prize,
I've be-dew'd it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs;
'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart,
Not a tie will break, not a link will start;
Would ye learn the spell, a mother sat there,
And a sacred thing is that old arm chair.
I sat and watch'd her many a day,
When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey;
And I almost worshipp'd her when she smil'd
And turn'd from her bible to bless her child.
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 that old arm chair.
'Tis past! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now,
With quivering breath, and throbbing brow;
'Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she died;
And mem'ry flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
While the scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear
My soul from a mother's old arm chair.
Russell, Henry, "Old Arm Chair" (1841). Historic Sheet Music Collection. 714.
The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.