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)

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