Preserve that old settee, unpainted and worn,

It belonged to my father before I was born.

It sits on the front lawn beneath a pine tree,

’Tis an emblem of comfort, that time-worn settee.

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.

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,

For riches or glory, I wouldn’t swap thee,

My dear old companion. My rustic settee.

Preserve that dear old settee when I’m dead and gone,

It silently sits there upon the front lawn.

I hope ’twill be kept in remembrance of me,

That dear old unpainted, unvarnished settee.