‘‘There’s a place I love to wander, 
In a garret dim and low, 
Where I sometimes sit and ponder 
On the days of long ago. 
And the treasure that is dearest, 
As it leans against the wall, 
Bringing thoughts of childhood nearest, 
Is the chair that rocked us all.” 
Thus softly sang our Grandma Breck 
Of the chair so broken and bare. 
But years have come and years have gone 
And again she writes of the chair: 
“ ’Twas a little comfort-rocker where my blessed Mother sat, 
And cuddled all her babies through the years; 
With prayer and song and sigh—and a ‘Bye low baby bye’ 
She hushed her helpless darlings, and wiped away their tears. 
In that very same low rocker, I too, rocked my precious brood, 
To the tender little story of ‘Bo Peep’. 
Oh, the rush of memories deep!—I can see them in their sleep— 
As they smile and gently murmur of the foolish little sheep— 
Breathing softly, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep’. 
Years have passed—the rocker loved and sacred as a shrine, 
Is broken—and would seem beyond repair, 
But I think it must be mended ere its days are wholly ended— 
For there are tiny toddlers—they are grandchildren of mine— 
Lately strayed from heavenly glory—and I want to tell a story— 
Hum a little hymn or prayer, holding close each cherub-darling 
In that same dear rocking chair!” 
So the chair is brought from its dim retreat, 
Where it leaned against the wall, 
That the tiny toddlers, full-fledged and flown, 
Fond memories may recall, 
And may think of it then as we think of it now, 
As “The chair that rocked us all.” 
