p. 10 | THE LITTLE ARMCHAIR by Margaret E. Sangster

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Aug 13, 1902

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 28, No. 33.

THE LITTLE ARMCHAIR.

By Margaret E. Sangster

Nobody sits in the little armchair; It stands in a corner dim; But a white-haired mother, gazing there, And yearningly thinking of him, Sees through the dust of long ago The bloom of her boy's sweet face, As he rocks so merrily to and fro, With a laugh that cheers the place.

Sometimes he holds a book in his hand, Sometimes a pencil and slate; And the lesson is hard to understand, And the figures hard to mate; But she sees the nod of the father's head, So proud of his little son, And she hears the words so often said, "No fear for our little one."

They were wonderful days, the dear, sweet days, When a child with sunny hair Was hers to scold, to kiss, and to praise, At her knee in the little chair. She lost him back in her busy years, When the great world caught the man, And he strode away past hopes and fears To his place in the battle's van.

And now and then, in a wistful dream, Like a picture out of date, She sees a head with a golden gleam Bent over a pencil and slate. And she lives again the happy day, The days of her young life's spring, When the armchair stood just in the way, The center of everything. —Margaret E. Sangster.