There’s a Picture Fair and Bright

There’s a pic­ture fair and bright

Hanging still on me­mo­ry’s wall:

There I see my fa­ther

Take the Book di­vine;

Dear home fac­es ga­thered round

As the sha­dows soft­ly fall

And a light from out the pag­es

Seems to shine.

Dear old Book

pre­cious Book

On thy pag­es soiled and worn

I love to look!

O thou balm for hearts that ache

For my saint­ed mo­ther’s sake

Thou art dear­er day by day

Thou bless­èd Book!

While I look

the pic­tures change

And I see my mo­ther’s face;

In her hand the Bi­ble

Worn and stained with tears;

But the light is shin­ing still

And with­in the hal­lowed place

There is com­fort for earth’s griefs

And doubts and fears.

O the bless­èd days of old

When I felt my mo­ther’s hand

With its ten­der touch of love

Upon my head

While the old

old

sto­ry sweet

Which a child can un­der­stand

From the pag­es of the Book

Divine she read.

When I long for voic­es hushed

And the touch of van­ished hands

In the dark­ness when death’s an­gel

Spreads his wing

Let me turn to mo­ther’s Book

With its com­forts and com­mands

For the peace and hope

Its bless­èd pag­es bring!