 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
359
The Family Bible.—Anonymous.
How painfully pleasing the fond recollection
Of youthful connexions and innocent joy,
When, blessed with parental advice and affection,
Surrounded with mercies, with peace from on high,
I still view the chair 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—
That family Bible, that lay on the stand;
The old-fashioned Bible, the dear, blessed Bible,
The family Bible, that lay on the stand.
Of youthful connexions and innocent joy,
When, blessed with parental advice and affection,
Surrounded with mercies, with peace from on high,
I still view the chair 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—
That family Bible, that lay on the stand;
The old-fashioned Bible, the dear, blessed Bible,
The family Bible, that lay on the stand.
That Bible, the volume of God's inspiration,
At morn and at evening, could yield us delight,
And the prayer of our sire was a sweet invocation,
For mercy by day, and for safety through night.
Our hymns of thanksgiving, with harmony swelling,
All warm from the heart of a family band,
Half raised us from earth to that rapturous dwelling,
Described in the Bible, that lay on the stand;
That richest of books, which excelled every other—
The family Bible, that lay on the stand.
At morn and at evening, could yield us delight,
And the prayer of our sire was a sweet invocation,
For mercy by day, and for safety through night.
Our hymns of thanksgiving, with harmony swelling,
All warm from the heart of a family band,
Half raised us from earth to that rapturous dwelling,
Described in the Bible, that lay on the stand;
That richest of books, which excelled every other—
The family Bible, that lay on the stand.
Ye scenes of tranquillity, 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 a dear Savior's protection,
Forgetful of gifts from his bountiful hand!
O, let me, with patience, receive his correction,
And think of the Bible, that lay on the stand;
That richest of books, which excelled every other—
The family Bible, that lay on the stand.
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 a dear Savior's protection,
Forgetful of gifts from his bountiful hand!
O, let me, with patience, receive his correction,
And think of the Bible, that lay on the stand;
That richest of books, which excelled every other—
The family Bible, that lay on the stand.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |