The Old Arm-chair

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, 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.

  In Childhood's 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.
 She told me shame would never betide,
 With truth for my creed and God for my guide ;
 She taught me to lisp my earliest 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 grey :
 And I almost 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 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 Memory 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.

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Eliza Cook

Eliza Cook was an English author, Chartist poet and writer born in London Road, Southwark. more…

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"The Old Arm-chair" STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 2 Jul 2020. <>.

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