The Old Rocking Chair                

                    I hear her sweet voice ringing
                         For so, my father said,
                    When in his great delirium
                         He talked of mother, dead:
                    I wonder if, in his fancy
                         He saw her sitting there,
                    A rocking and a singing
                         In her old rocking chair.

                    The words I can’t remember,
                         But I list with intent ear;
                    As on and on he quoted
                         The words with solemn air,
                    He dreamed and talked of days when
                         The chair was waiting there,
                    To rock and sing to little Jim
                         And breathe on him a prayer.
                    

                    And so each night before the hearth
                         When tasks of day were done;
                    Rock of Ages, Cleft for me
                         Calmed to a low, sweet, hum
                    Safe in her arms enfolded;
                         So warm and cuddled there;
                    Her brood of tan, he visioned
                         Rocked in that old arm chair.
                    

                    O daddy dear, what would we give
                         To know the words you said;
                    About the dear old rocking chair
                         That rambled thru your head.
                    But this we know, you lived again
                         With those you loved down here,
                    And saw them come and go in turn
                         In that old rocking chair.
                    

                    Old rocking chair, tho long since gone
                         Do speak to us of then;
                    When back once more in that dear home
                         We dream of, times again;
                    You set a silent sentinel
                         As each one learned his prayer
                    Or sang with them the old sweet songs,
                         “We’ll meet each other there.”
                    

                                   By Rella Ogden Miller
                                        January 18, 1944

View Scanned Image

Return to Main Page