Poems (Ford)/The Little Chair

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THE LITTLE CHAIR.
The house seems bright and cheerful As any home can be;I hear clear, ringing laughter, Glad bursts of childish glee;Why does the silent mother A look of sadness wear?Ah, in a shaded corner She sees a little chair.
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There sat her blue-eyed Willie, One year ago to day—Oh, with what earnest pleading She prayed that he might stay;For, though she knew God called him, She wished not yet to spareHer youngest, brightest darling To fill an angel's chair.
His sweet young voice is silent, She sees his smile no more,Nor hears his tiny footsteps' Light patter on the floor,The dimpled hands no longer Are lifted up in prayer,Lisped in sweet, childish accents, Beside his little chair.
Though other children gambol All joyous at her side,Her sad eye vainly seeketh The little one that died;Oh, bitterly she mourns him, And oft, when none are there,Her hot tears fall in silence Upon his little chair.
Oh, there is many a household Where joy and sorrow meet— ​Homes where one link is wanting The circle to complete,And should you ask what shadow Of sorrow resteth there,Some loving hand will sadly Point to an empty chair.
What heart is there that mourns not Some loved one gone before,To meet the waiting angels Upon the spirit shore?Since here there must be partings, Oh, let it be our prayerThat in our home eternal We'll mourn no empty chair.

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