I love it, I love it, and who shall dareTo chide me for loving that old arm chair,I\u27ve treasured it as a holy prize,I\u27ve be-dew\u27d it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs;\u27Tis 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\u27d her many a day,When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey;And I almost worshipp\u27d her when she smil\u27dAnd turn\u27d 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. \u27Tis past! \u27tis past! but I gaze on it now,With quivering breath, and throbbing brow;\u27Twas there she nursed me, \u27twas there she died;And mem\u27ry 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 tearMy soul from a mother\u27s old arm chair
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