Scripture Verse

Blessed is the one who keeps the words of the prophecy of this book. Revelation 22:7


Words: Ap­peared in Young’s Chris­tian Com­pan­ion, 1826. Adapt­ed by Mar­tin Da­kin in White Robes for the Sun­day-School, by Alon­zo Ab­bey & Mer­ritt J. Mun­ger (Bos­ton, Mas­sa­chu­setts: Ol­iv­er Dit­son, 1879), pag­es 62–63.

Music: Alon­zo J. Ab­bey (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pho­to of Da­kin or Ab­bey (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),


How painfully pleas­ing
The fond re­col­lect­ion
Of youthful con­nect­ions
And innocent joy!
When blest with pa­rent­al
Advice and af­fect­ion;
Surrounded with mer­cies,
With peace from on high.
I still view the chairs
Of my sire and my mo­ther,
The seats of their off­spring
As ranged on each hand;
And that richest of books,
Which excelled every oth­er,
The fa­mi­ly Bi­ble,
Which lay on the stand.


The old fa­shioned Bi­ble,
The dear, bless­èd Bi­ble,
The fa­mi­ly Bi­ble
Which lay on the stand.

That Bi­ble, the vol­ume
Of God’s in­spi­ra­tion,
At noon and at ev­en­ing
Could give us de­light;
And the pray­er of our sire
Was a sweet in­voca­tion,
For mer­cy by day
And for safe­ty thro’ night;
Our hymns of thanks­giv­ing
With har­mo­ny swell­ing
All warm from the hearts
Of that fa­mi­ly band,
Half raised us from earth
To that rap­tur­ous dwell­ing
Described in the Bi­ble
That lay on the stand.


Ye scenes of tran­qui­li­ty!
Long have we part­ed;
My hope’s al­most gone,
And my par­ents no more;
In sor­row and sad­ness
I live brok­en-heart­ed,
And wan­der un­known
On a far dist­ant shore;
Yet, how can I doubt my
Dear Sav­ior’s pro­tect­ion,
Forgetful of gifts
From His boun­ti­ful hand!
Oh! let me with pa­tience
Endure His cor­rect­ion,
And think of the Bi­ble
That lay on the stand.


Hail, ris­ing the bright­est
And best of the morn­ing,
The star which has guid­ed
My par­ents safe home;
The beam of thy glo­ry,
My path­way adorn­ing,
Shall scat­ter the dark­ness
And bright­en the gloom.
As the old east­ern sag­es
To wor­ship the Stran­ger
Did hast­en with ec­sta­sy
To Ca­naan’s land,
I’ll bow to adore Him,
Not in a low man­ger,
He’s seen in the Bi­ble
That lay on the stand.


Though age and mis­for­tune
Press hard on my feel­ings,
I’ll flee to the Bi­ble,
And trust in the Lord;
Though dark­ness should co­ver
His mer­ci­ful deal­ings,
My soul is still cheered by
His heav­en­ly Word.
And now from things earth­ly
My soul is re­mov­ing
I soon shall glo­ry
With Hea­ven’s bright bands,
And in rap­ture of joy
Be for­ev­er ador­ing
The God of the Bi­ble
That lay on the stand.