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.

Refrain

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.

Refrain

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.

Refrain

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!

Refrain