Sitting near the window in a wooden rocking chair,
A feeble woman holds a book and reads with special care.
With house shoes on her weary feet the night air has a chill,
On her lap - the afghan which she made with special skill.
Sometimes she nods, sometimes she sighs, sometimes she laughs out loud.
Sometimes her eyes are lifted up, sometimes her head is bowed.
From time to time she says “amen!” at times she says “Oh my!”
Often she is known to be so happy she could cry.
The book is called the Bible and it tells her of her Lord.
It speaks of faith, and hope, and love, it speaks of rich reward.
It tells her of the heaven where her dearest friends now dwell.
It tells her how the work of Christ has saved her soul from hell.
Each narrative has a special place, each parable a home,
In her heart, and to her taste, it is a honeycomb.
They tell her now it’s all a myth, and worthy of the fire.
She answers, “Let my God be true, and every man a liar.”
This woman is a princess in God’s family of love,
She may look poor but she is blessed with riches from above.
For with this Bible in her hands and faith within her heart,
She lives upon the promises and strength that they impart.
This dear saint has discovered - the answers to this life,
She’s found a place of refuge in the midst of pain and strife.
Her confidence, her trust, her love, are not to be despised,
For when this life is over it will all be realized!