My Mother's Bible by Morris

After once reading this sweet little poem, the student will need no prompting to teach him that it is not possible for him to deliver it with too much genuine emotion:

   THIS book is all that's left me now!

Tears will unbidden start,—

With faltering lip and throbbing brow,

I press it to my heart.

For many generations past,

Here is our family tree;

My mother's hand this Bible clasped;

She, dying, gave it me.

Ah! well do I remember those

Whose names those 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 learned God's word to hear.

Her angel-face—I see it yet!

What thronging memories come!

Again that little group is met

Within the halls of home!

Thou truest friend man ever knew,

Thy constancy I've tried;

Where all were false I found thee true,

My counsellor and 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.