The Bible is a precious Book
No matter if it's large or small
But I believe my Mother's Bible
Was more precious than them all.

How well I remember how us kids
My brothers, my sisters and me
Used to get together at the close of day
And gather at my Mother's knee.

Sometimes we'd talk a little while
About things that happened thru the day
Then she'd say, "Get my Bible down
I'll read to you and then we'll pray."

And though there were just five of us
Three brothers, my sister and me
There were very often extra heads
As we gathered at my Mother's knee.

For often our friends and neighbors
Who came to our home to play
Never heard the Bible read at home
And would ask if they could stay.

I thought her Bible was ugly and cluttered
Its pages all written on and torn
A bit of hair, a faded flower
Its covers were all ragged and worn.

But when she'd open it carefully
And begin to read to us there
Her face would take on a radiant look
Her voice an angelic air.

And then I remember at Christmas time
The ladies whose class she taught
Gave her a brand new Bible
Which they had lovingly bought.

She carried it proudly to church with her
And gave it the best of care
But when she'd say, "Bring my Bible"
T'was the old one we handed her.

Mother's eyes are dim and faded now
Her mind is somewhat confused
And I don't really know what happened
To that worn out Bible we used.

But the mem'ries of those precious days
I spent at Mother's knee
With that dear old tear-stained Bible
Shall be mine throughout eternity.