This book is all that’s left me now,

Tears will unbidden start,

With faltering heart and throbbing brow,

I press it to my heart.

For many generations past,

Here is our family tree;

My mother’s hand this Bible clasped;

She dying gave it me.

2 Ah! well do I remember those

Whose name these records bear;

Who round the hearth-stone used to close,

After the evening prayer,

And tell of what those pages said,

In terms my heart would thrill!

Though they are with the silent dead,

Here are they living still.

3 My father read this holy book

To brothers, sisters dear;

How calm was my poor mother’s look,

Who leaned God’s word to hear.

Her angel face—I see it yet!

What thronging memories come!

Again that little group is met,

Within the walls of home.

4 Thou truest friend man ever knew,

Thy constancy I’ve tried;

Where all were false, I found thee true—

My counselor and guide.

The mines of earth no treasures give,

That could this volume buy;

In teaching me the way to live,

It taught me how to die.