My Mother’s Bible
by American poet George pope Morris (1802-1864) – extracted from Poems and Hymns
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 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 throning memories come!
Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home!
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I’ve tried;
When all were false, I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy;
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die!
This poem was written at the memorial service of the poet’s mother. The plain words show clearly that the most precious inheritance a Christian parent could pass to her children is the testimony of a living faith – the words of God actively penetrating in her daily life, guiding every decision, overcoming every storm. “By faith Noah, when warned about things not yet seen, in holy fear built an ark to save his family.” (Heb 11:7) — exhortation from Rev Tay
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