Page:Poems Brown.djvu/26

THE MOTHER'S CHAIR. 

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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.