i^ 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 
 Shelf. 
 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 £ITMR1imiliWIII11IIHHt 
 

1 Lovu ir, 1 1.1 'V1-: II. 
 
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR 
 
 V 
 
 }l L I Z A C O O Iv 
 
 ILLrsTUATIONS l;V 
 
 MISS L. B. HUMPHREY AND OTHERS 
 
 I50ST0X 
 
 D. LOTHROP .^- COMPANY 
 
 FRANKEIX AX]^ HAWLi;V STREETS 
 
f K ■ ^ 
 
 
 Copyright, iS86, 
 By ]). LoTHROi' & Co. 
 
THE OLD Aini-C:iIAIR. 
 
 I love it, I love it ; niul wIkj sliall dare 
 
 To chide me fur loving that old arm-chair ? 
 
 I've cherished it long as a sainted prize; 
 
 I've bedewed 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 fs that old arm-chair. 
 
 In childhood's hour I lingered near 
 
 The hallowed seat with listening ear; 
 
 And gentle words tliat mother would give, 
 
 To fit me to die and teach me to live. 
 
 She told me that shame would never betide. 
 
 With truth tor m\- creed and God for my guide; 
 
 She taught me to lisp my earliest ]irayer. 
 
 As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. 
 
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. 
 
 T sat and watcliecl her many a day, 
 When her e\e yrew dim and her locks were gray : 
 And I ahiiost worshipped her when she smiled, 
 And turned from her liible to bless her child. 
 Years rolled on, but the last one sped — 
 My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled ; 
 I learned how much the heart could 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 tliere she nursed me, 'twas there she died ; 
 And memory flows with lava tide. 
 Say it is folly, and deem me weak 
 ^^'hile the scalding tears drop down mv cheek : 
 I'uit I love it, I love it, and cannot tear 
 My soul from a mother'^ old arm-chair. 
 
THE OLD ARMCHAIR. 
 
 I love it, I love it, and who 
 
 shall dare 
 To chide me for lo\'ing that 
 
 old arm-chair? 
 
I've cheribhecl it Ions: as a 
 
 sainted prize ; 
 I've bedewed it with tears and 
 
 embalmed it with siorhs. 
 
'Tis bound by a thousand bands 
 
 to my heart ; 
 >s'ot a tit- will break, not a link 
 
 will start. 
 A\'ould ye learn the spell ? — a mother 
 
 sat there ; 
 And a sacred thing is that old 
 
 arm-chair. 
 
In childhoocrs hour I lingered 
 
 near 
 The hallowed seat with listening 
 
 ear ; 
 And gentle words that mother 
 
 would give, 
 To fit me to die and teach 
 
 me to live. 
 
Slie told me that sliamc would 
 
 never betide, 
 With trutli for my creed and 
 
 God for my guide ; 
 
She taught mc to h'sp my 
 
 earHest prayer, 
 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 ahnost worshipped her when 
 
 she smiled. 
 And turned from her Bible to bless 
 
 her child. 
 
Years rolled on ; but the last one 
 
 sped — 
 My idol was shattered ; my eartli- 
 
 star lied ; 
 
I learned how much the heart 
 
 could bear, 
 When I saw her die in that 
 
 old ann-chair. 
 
'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze 
 
 on it now 
 With ouiverino; breath and 
 
 throbbing brow: 
 
-^ s.,,^ r f J: ^ 
 
'Twas there she nursed me, t'was 
 
 there slie died ; 
 And Meniorv flows with lava 
 
 tide. 
 
^\^ "^^^' 
 
Sa)' it is folly, and deem me 
 
 weak, 
 While the scalding tears drop down 
 
 mv cheek : 
 But I love it, I love it, and cannot 
 
 tear 
 My soul from a mother's old 
 
 arm-chair. 
 
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