Bible

We may love to read the brilliant novel,
Or of fashions the last display,
Or some grand and thrilling historic work
Of an ancient far off day.

But after the toil of the day is over,
We love the Bible best,
For, as we turn its sacred pages,
We find within them rest.

The novel will lose its charms,
Because it is not true,
The fashions will grow dull,
When they’re no longer new.

Of the historic work we soon may tire,
But the Bible we know is true,
And ever, within its hallowed pages,
We find something new.