A CHILD sat at a cottage-door, one lovely summer’s day,
The sun was shining brightly, but she heeded not its ray;
Her eyes were fixed upon a book, that rested on her knee,
And in its sacred page she seemed a brighter light to see!
The birds were making melody, among the shadowy trees,
The perfumed breath of summer flowers came floating on the breeze;
She heeded not the scented gale, heard not the songbird’s lay,
That little one was occupied with sweeter things than they.
For she was searching earnestly, in truth’s most precious mine;
Oh! happy little cottage girl, the pearl of price was thine
A traveler journeyed on that day, beneath the sultry beam,
Weary and thirsty, he had sought, in vain, for some cool stream.
He paused before that cottage door, and gazed on that sweet child,
Marveling much what fairy tale, her heart and soul beguiled.
His voice aroused her, as he asked for a refreshing draft;
And when the cooling beverage that weary one had quaffed,
“My step,” he said, “you did not hear; my form you did not see;
Tell me, my love, what charmed you so, what volume may that be?”
“The best of books,” the child replied; “the book that God hath given,
To tell us of a better home, and guide us safe to heaven.”
“What!” he rejoined, in strange surprise, “why have you left your play,
To sit and read your Bible here, this lovely summer’s day?”
“Because I love it,” said the child, “most dearly love it, too
Sure, all who read that holy book, must love it as I do!”
The stranger traveled on and left that cottage far behind,
Yet still these few and simple words, kept echoing in his mind:
“She loves her Bible, artless child; she spoke the truth, I know,
For not a shade of falsehood dwelt on that fair open brow.”
“I love it not; oft have I laughed its humbling truths to scorn,
And said, I ne’er would own as LORD, the babe at Bethlehem born,
She loves her Bible; would I could!” A tide of feeling swept
Across that proud and wayward heart; the burden’d sinner wept!
The Lord, the Spirit of all power, unto his soul had spoken;
The heart that feared not God or man, by a child’s touch was broken.
A humble contrite wanderer, he sought the Saviour’s fold,
And learned to love his Bible, too, and prize it more than gold.