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 holy prize,
I've bedew'd it with tears, and embalm'd 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.

I sat and watch'd her many a day
When her eye grew dim and her locks were gray;
And I almost worshipp'd her when she smil'd
And turn'd 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.
"The Old Arm Chair"

Music by Henry Russell
Words by Eliza Cook
(Boston: Geo. P. Reed, 1840)

ARTIST: Caroline Moseley

RECORDED AT: Taplin Auditorium
Princeton University
James Moses, Recording Engineer

© Copyright 1999 by Caroline Moseley,
All rights reserved.

Digitized by Adam Soroka, Johnny Lee & Lisa Gottschalk
at the Digital Media Center,
Clemons Library, Univ. of Virginia