The Vacant Chair

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher, of Songs, ballads, toy books, &c. No. 54 Chatham Street, N. Y.

The Vacant Chair.

We shall meet, but we shall miss him;
There will be one vacant chair;
We shall linger to caress him,
While we breathe our evening prayer.
When, a year ago, we gathered,
Joy was in his mild blue eye;
But a golden cord is severed,
And our hopes in ruin lie.

At our fire-side, sad and lonely,
Often will the bosom swell
At remembreance of the story
How our noble Willie fell,
How he strove to bear our Banner
Thro’ the thickest of the fight,
And upheld our Country’s honor,
In the strength of manhood’s might.

True, they tell us wreaths of glory
Ever more will deck his brow;
But this soothes the anguish only,
Sweeping o’er our heart-strings now.
Sleep to day, O early fallen!
In thy green and narrow bed;
Dirges from the pine and cypress
Mingle with the tears we shed.

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