The Old Book

O BOOK of books, and friend of friends alone,

How deep the debt of gratitude to thee!

For every human ill thou hast a charm,

With fragrance fresh as in Judæan days.

How clear the message that thy pages bring

To rich and poor, to old and young the same,

Forever sounding ’mid the centuries:—

That God’s our father, tender, just and true,

And we His children all, both bond and free

Though clouds and darkness meet us on the way,

Thy radiant light is ever shining there.