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The Book My Mother Read

Like a compass on the sea,
Like a star on azure deep,
Is the Bible unto me,
For my course it safely keeps;
Tells me how I strayed and fell,
How in sin I lay as dead,
But I live its power to tell,
Blessèd book my mother read.

Refrain
Precious book! O wondrous book!
Who can tell its power divine?
Bearing news of grace so free,
Book of books, I claim it mine.

Like a lamp in darkest night,
Shining on my pathway lone,
Now and then upon my sight,
Shows a vision of my home;
So this book my spirit cheers,
When all other hopes are fled,
Balm and comfort for my fears,
Is the book my mother read.

Like a guest from realms above,
Soothing all one's pain and pang,
How it thrills with Jesus' love,
Like some song the angels sang;
Tells me how my Saviour came,
How for me His blood was shed;
I will read it o'er again—
Blessèd book my mother read.

—by Edwin S. Ufford (1851–1929)

Being born again, not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever. 1 Peter 1:23

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