Poetry: The Bible
ThÃ8 hule book I'd rather own, Than all the gold and g ems That e'er in monarch's cofier shone, Than all their diadema. Nay. were the seas onc chrysolite, '! he earth a golden ball, And diamonds all the stars ofnight, This book were worth them all. How bcaulifiil lo ambition's evo His blood-wrung spoils must gleam, When death's uplifted hand is nigh, His life a vanished dreaml Thcn hear him with his gasping breath For one poor moment crave! - Fooi! wouldst thou stay the armofdeath! Ask of the gold to savel No, no! the soul ne'er found relief In glittering hoards of wealrh; Geme dnzzle not the eye of grief, Gold cannot purchase hcalth; But hero a blessed balÃn appears, To heal thc deepnst woe; And he that sceks this book in tears; His tears shall cease to flow. Here he who died on Calvary's tree, Hath made that promiae blest; "Ye heavy-laden, come to me, And I will give you rest. A bruised reed I will not break, A contrite heart despiso; My burden's light and all who take My yoke, shall win the skie al" Yes. yes, this Iittle book is worth A 11 el8e to mortals, given, For what are all the joys of earth Compared to joys of Heaven? This is the guide our FathergavO To lead to realms of day - A star whose lustro gilds the grave - "The light - the life - theway."