My Mother's Bible
M. B. Williams Charlie D. Tillman and J. R. Baxter, Jr.

There's a dear and precious book, though it's worn and faded now,
Which recalls those happy days of long ago
When I stood at mother's knee with her hand upon my brow,
And I heard her voice in gentle tones and low.

As she read the stories o'er of those mighty men of old
And of Joseph and of Daniel and their trials;
Of that little David bold who became a king at last
nd of Satan and his many wicked wiles.

Then she read of Jesus' love as He blest the children dear,
How He suffered, bled and died upon the tree;
Of His heavy load of care, then she dried my flowing tears
With her kisses as she said it was for me.

Well, those days are past and gone but their memory lingers still,
And the dear old book each day has been my guide;
And I seek to do His will, as my mother taught me then
And ever in my heart His word abide.


Blessed book, precious book,
On thy dear old tear-stained leaves I love to look;
Thou are sweeter day by day as I walk the narrow way
That leads at last to that bright home above.