George Pope Morris
George Pope Morris Poems
My Mother's Bible
THIS book is all that ’s left me now!
Tears will unbidden start,—
With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past,
Here is our family tree;
My mother’s hands this Bible clasped,
She, dying, gave it me.
Ah! well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
Who round the hearth-stone used to close
After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said,
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still.
My father read this holy book
On old Long Island's sea-girt shore
We caught a cod the other day;
He never had been there before,
And wished that he had stayed away.
We laid him on the beach to dry,
Then served him frizzled on a dish,
A warning to the smaller fry,
As well as all the larger fish.