Tho it's worn and faded now,

Which recalls those happy days of long ago;

When I stood at mother's knee,

With her hand upon my brow,

And I heard of voice in gentle tones and low,

Blessed Book, precious Book

On thy dear old tear-stained leaves I love to look;

Thou art sweeter day by day,

As I walked the narrow way

That leads at last to that bright home above.

As she read the stories o'er,

Of those mighty men of old

Of Joseph and of Daniel and their trials;

Of Little David bold,

Who became a king at last;

Of Satan with his many wicked wiles.

Blessed Book, precious Book

On thy dear old tear-stained leaves I love to look;

Thou art sweeter day by day,

As I walked the narrow way

That leads at last to that bright home above.

Then she read of Jesus love,

As He blessed the children dear,

How He suffered, bled and died upon a tree;

Of His heavy load of care,

Then she dried my flowing tears

With her kisses as she said it was for me.

Blessed Book, precious Book

On thy dear old tear-stained leaves I love to look;

Thou art sweeter day by day,

As I walked the narrow way

That leads at last to that bright home above.

Well, those days are past and gone,

But their mem'ry lingers still,

And the dear, old Book each day has been my guide;

And I seek to do its will,

As my mother taught me then,

And ever in my heart His Words abide.

Blessed Book, precious Book

On thy dear old tear-stained leaves I love to look;

Thou art sweeter day by day,

As I walked the narrow way

That leads at last to that bright home above.