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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 tears,
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 reverenced that old Bible,
How she spread it's precious light!

Every child knew faith and reverence,
Even those who weren't her own.
For, her open arms would often
Shelter one without a home.

Now, the years have slipped behind us.
She has left this home, below.
But, we look to Heaven gladly,
Knowing it's where she would go.

Fragile pages of her Bible,
Handle we with loving care!
Still we find, within it's pages,
Truth and life forever there!

Joan Clifton Costner
Copyrighted. All rights reserved.

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