Th’ Owd Family Bible Poem by William Baron

Ther's an owd family relic on th' bookshelf up theer,
An’ aw'll keep it till th' day 'at aw dee;
Aw know 'at it wouldno' be wo'th mich to yo,
But gowd couldno' buy it fro' me.
It's nowt but a Bible o'th' owd-fashioned sort,
Wi' some uv its leeaves loce an' torn ;
An' mi gronfeyther bowt it, aw've oft yerd it sed,
On th' day 'at mi mother wur born.

God bless mi owd grondad !—an' gronny an' o !—
They've booath bin i' th' grave mony a year!
If yo'll oppen th' owd book eawt, an' look on th' fly-leeaf,
Yo'll see booath ther names written theer.
Aw know, mony a time, when aw wur but a lad,
Aw've hutched on mi gronfeyther's knee;
While mi gronny's bin sat readin' th' book throo hur 'specs,'
To teych some good lesson to me.

Just under ther names, yo'll see th' date written deawn,
When mi grondad an' gronny wur wed ;
An' below it, ther's th' names 'at mi grondad wrote in,
Uv o th' childer 'at ever they hed.
It meks me feel sad when aw read 'em at times,
An' mi een fill wi' mony a tear;
For o 'at remains to tell th' tale o' ther lives,
Is th' names 'at yo'll see written theer.

Mi mother geet th' Bible when th' owd folks wur gone,
An' hoo carefully put it away;
But oftimes hoo'd reych it, to read it a bit,
When hoo'd finished hur labours for th' day.
Aw fancy, at times, aw con see hur i'th cheear,
Wi' th' book oppent eawt on hur knee;
But fancy soon flies as aw cast a sad glonce
On th' spot wheer hoo once used to be.


Aw connot help thinkin' o'er th' days long gone by,
For my heart dwells so fondly on th' past;
Mi mother med life like a heaven to me,—
But owd age crept o'er hur at last.
Still hoo never despaired, tho' hoo knew th' end wur near,
But hoo'd smile in hur cheear up i' th' nook;
An' sometimes hoo'd ax me to stop in an' read
A chapter or two fro' th' Owd Book.

Aw'st allus remember that sad winter's day,
When aw knelt deawn bi th' side uv of hur bed;
' Keep th' Owd Family Bible, an' bless thee, mi lad !'
Wur th' last words 'at ever hoo sed.
Hoo sunk like a babby 'at's gooin' to sleep,
An' th' tears deawn mi cheeks trickled fast;
For aw knew hoo wur leeavin' earth's sorrows behynt,
To rest fro' hur labours at last.

Ther's an owd family relic on th' bookshelf up theer,—
Far dearer than treasures o' gowd !
For, it brings back to memory thoose luv'd ones o' th' past,
'At lie in ther graves, damp an' cowd.
It's nowt but a Bible o' th' owd-fashioned sort,
But wealth couldno' buy it fro' me,
For its sacred to hur aw luv'd dearest uv o—
An' aw'll keep it till th' day 'at aw dee!

Modernised Version by Jim Saville

The Old Family Bible
There's an old family relic on the bookshelf up there,
And I'll keep it till the day that I die;
I know that it wouldn’t' be worth much to you,
But gold couldn't buy it from me.
It's nothing but a Bible of the old-fashioned sort,
With some of its pages loose and torn;
And my grandfather bought it, I’ve often heard it said,
On the day that my mother was born.

God bless my old granddad!—and granny as well!—
They've both been in the grave many a year!
If you’ll open the old book out, and look on the fly-leaf,
You’ll see both their names written there.
I know, many a time, when I was but a lad,
I’ve perched on my grandfather's knee;
While my granny's been sat reading the book with her glasses,'
To teach some good lesson to me.

Just under their names, you’ll see the date written down,
When my granddad and granny were wed ;
And below it, there’s the names that my granddad wrote in,
Of all the children that ever they had.
It makes me feel sad when I read them at times,
An' my eyes fill with many a tear;
For all that remains to tell the tale of their lives,
Is the names that you’ll see written there.

My mother got the Bible when the old folks was gone,
And she carefully put it away;
But often she'd fetch it, to read it a bit,
When she'd finished her labours for the day.
I fancy, at times, I can see her in the chair,
With the book opened out on her knee;
But fancy soon flies as I cast a sad glance
On the spot where she once used to be.


I cannot help thinking over the days long gone by,
For my heart dwells so fondly on the past;
My mother made life like a heaven to me,—
But old age crept over her at last.
Still she never despaired, though she knew the end was near,
But she'd smile in her chair up in the nook;
And sometimes she'd ask me to stop in and read
A chapter or two from the Old Book.

I shall always remember that sad winter's day,
When I knelt down by the side of her bed;
'Keep the Old Family Bible, and bless thee, my lad !'
Were the last words that ever she said.
She sunk like a baby that's going to sleep,
And the tears down my cheeks trickled fast;
For I knew she was leaving earth's sorrows behind,
To rest from her labours at last.

There’s an old family relic on the bookshelf up there,—
Far dearer than treasures of gold !
For, it brings back to memory those loved ones of the past,
That lie in their graves, damp and cold.
It's nothing but a Bible of the old-fashioned sort,
But wealth couldn’t buy it from me,
For its sacred to her I loved dearest of all—
And I'll keep it till the day that I die!