From the by­gone days of child­hood
Comes a pic­ture quaint and rare—
One of beau­ty, and so ve­ry dear to me;
’Tis a pic­ture of my mo­ther
Sitting in her old arm­chair,
With the op­en Bi­ble rest­ing on her knee.

Refrain

Mother and the Book of God!
’Twas to her both staff and rod;
And when in dreams her love­ly face I see,
God’s op­en book is al­ways on her knee.

As she soft­ly turned its pag­es,
How her gent­le face would glow!
And her heart from all the cares of life seemed free,
As she read each pre­cious pro­mise,
Full of bless­ed­ness to know,
From the op­en Bi­ble rest­ing on her knee.

Refrain

When I hear the world’s voice call­ing,
When my feet would go as­tray,
All the dark de­ceit­ful things are made to flee,
When I think of my dear mo­ther
As she sat to read and pray,
With the op­en Bi­ble rest­ing on her knee.

Refrain