My father was jovial, he liked Lager beer.
He swallowed large doses, his spirits to
cheer,
And when he returned from a late jamboree,
I would find him reposing on that old settee.
How well I remember when but a mere lad,
I sat in the twilight beside my old dad.
He told funny stories so pleasing to me,
As we sat on that time-worn, unvarnished
settee.
And now grown to manhood, my father long
dead,
I frequently make that old settee my bed.
All sorrows and troubles will vanish from
me,
As I slumber upon that old-fashioned settee.
In hot summer mornings, I sit in the shade,
My troubles all vanished and my debts all
paid.
There’s nothing can give such contentment
to me,
As to smoke my clay pipe on that ancient
settee.
In midsummer days, ’tis a pleasure of mine,
To sit in the shadow of that stately pine.
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I welcome the fragrance of that noble tree,
As I smoke my clay pipe on that ancient
settee.
In warm autumn days, when the weather
was hot,
I would hasten away to that favorite spot.
The hot autumn days had no terror for me,
When I sprawled at full length on that old
settee.
In warm autumn evenings, when curtains
were drawn,
And toads were cavorting about on the lawn.
I would sit there so happy, beneath that pine
tree
And smoke my clay pipe on that rustic
settee.
Should I take a fancy to wander away,
And from the old homestead, be tempted to
stray,
My heart will retain an affection for thee,
Thou, friend of my father, thou ancient
settee.
The friendly old settee that sits on the sod,
Reminds me each day that I’m nearer my
God,
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