Mother had a treasured Bible
That was worn and rather thin;
When we brought our troubles to her
She would take it down again.
Seemed she always found the answer
In those fragile pages there ~
And we noticed how she handled it
With tender loving care.
When our hearts were broken, bleeding,
She would tell how Jesus, too,
Knew the salty taste of teardrops
As he prayed the long night through.
And when we came with hearts aflutter ~
Proud of deeds that we had done,
She would show us that tomorrow
Comes a new song to be sung.
How she loved us! How she steadied!
From the low ebb to the height!
How she reverence that old Bible!
How she spread its precious Light!
Every child knew faith and reverence ~
Even those who werenít her own,
For her open arms would often
Shelter ones without a home.
Now, the years have slipped behind us ~
She has left this home below.
But we look to Heaven gladly
Knowing itís where she would go.
Fragile pages of her Bible!
Handle we with loving care!
Still we find within its pages
Truth and life ~ forever there!
Joan Clifton Costner