Poems (Brown)/The Mother's Chair
THE MOTHER'S CHAIR.
I see the chair where oft she sat,Engaged in pleasant, social chat;There is her cane, and there's her cap,And there the bed where she used to nap.
The room seems dreary, lonely, and cold;It does not look as it did of old;The shutters are broken, the curtains are torn,And I sit weeping, sad, and lone.
It is full three years since my mother died;And I stood with sister, side by side,And looked into the grave, so cold and deep,When they laid her down for her long, last sleep.
So this is the reason I cherish the chair,Because my dear mother so often sat there;But now it is vacant; she has left it and gone,And sits with bright Seraphs round the throne.
But her room seems lonely, dreary, and cold;It does not look as it did of old;The shutters are broken, the curtains are torn,And here I sit weeping, sad, and lone.
But I will not mourn, for I know to-day,She has risen on wings, and flown awayTo join the blest "beyond the river,"And sing God's praises forever and ever.