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The book is all that's left me now, ~
Tears will unbidden start, ~
With faltering lip & throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past
Here is our family tree;
My mother's hands this Bible clasped,
She, dying, gave it me.
Ah! well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
Who round the hearthstone used to close,
After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still!
My father read this holy book
To brothers, sisters, dear;
How calm was my poor mother's look,
Who loved God's word to hear!
Her angel face, ~ I see it yet!
What thronging memories come!
Again that little group is met
Within the walls of home!
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
They constancy I've tried;
When all were false, I found thee true,
My counselor & guide.
The mines of earth no treasure give
That could this volume buy;
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.
By George P. Morris;
as printed in McGuffey's 5th Eclectic Reader
What a beautiful poem, Kim. I feel the same as you...I do pray that my children will value my Bible (the one with their names written in by certain verses, dated and with the reason for praying that verse) as much as this poem depicts.
ReplyDeleteHow touching. My grandma chose to be buried with her Bible so we no longer have it.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful and so true! I have my Mothers Bible and I hope some day to pass mine on to one of my children. I have all their dad's sermon notes. The people he had baptised and when. Lots of my personal thoughts and notes. I hope to leave that legacy for them. The Word is life to us! Blessings!
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