Mother and the Book of God

From the by­gone days of child­hood

Comes a pic­ture quaint and rare—

One of beau­ty

and so ve­ry dear to me;

’Tis a pic­ture of my mo­ther

Sitting in her old arm­chair

With the op­en Bi­ble rest­ing on her knee.

Mother and the Book of God!

’Twas to her both staff and rod;

And when in dreams her love­ly face I see

God’s op­en book is al­ways on her knee.

As she soft­ly turned its pag­es

How her gent­le face would glow!

And her heart from all the cares of life seemed free

As she read each pre­cious pro­mise

Full of bless­ed­ness to know

From the op­en Bi­ble rest­ing on her knee.

When I hear the world’s voice call­ing

When my feet would go as­tray

All the dark de­ceit­ful things are made to flee

When I think of my dear mo­ther

As she sat to read and pray

With the op­en Bi­ble rest­ing on her knee.