The Old Rocking Chair While looking through the attic, I spied it standing there, And shining, happy memories Sprang from that rocking chair. I could see my mother rocking By the lamplight every night As I climbed into her lap With a cozy, warm delight. She would tell me lovely stories And sing sweet lullabies; With gentleness she'd hold me Till I'd close my sleepy eyes. Once again I saw her knitting And how the needles flew To make us pretty things With yarn of vivid hue. Then I seemed to see my mother With folded hands in prayer, As she did so many evenings In her grand old rocking chair. For just a little while, All the magic past Came back to bring me happiness In a dream I wished would last. That rocking chair is precious; God blessed it from above. It's the golden throne of Mother, Where she shared her special love. Written by LaVerne P. Larson