The Old Wooden Chair
In the Old Wooden Chair, she held to her breast
Children in need of a home, and of rest.
In the spots where her loving arms used to lay,
The amber wood was worn slightly away
From years of tenderly rocking to sleep,
The children that others were unable to keep.
She gave them hope when they thought it gone;
She took them in and it wasn't long--
Before one by one, they were rocked asleep
As she prayed the Lord their souls to keep.
The lullabies hummed from this chair I am sure
Are still sung by all those who rocked there with her.
But now, the Old Wooden Chair sits quietly-
No babe to soothe, no mouth to feed.
This Mother of the Lost has now passed on,
But her legacy of love-- it will never be gone.
For it lives in the children who under her care,
Found God's love in the Old Wooden Chair.
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