Holy Bible, Book divine!
Precious treasure! thou art mine!
Mine to tell me whence I came;
Mine to teach me what I am;
Mine to chide me when I rove;
Mine to show a Savior's love;
Mine art thou to guide my feet;
Mine to judge, condemn, acquit;
Mine to comfort in distress,
If the Holy Spirit bless;
Mine to show by living faith
Man can triumph over death;
Mine to tell of joys to come,
And the rebel sinner's doom.—Selected
The finest reply ever given to a man yet who tried to throw doubt on the Bible was heard at a large dinner given in New York by a wealthy lady who sat beside a learned professor of science. In the course of conversation, she said, quite naturally, "The Bible says so and so."
"The Bible!" remarked the professor, "you don't believe the Bible ?"
"Yes, indeed, I believe it," replied his hostess.
"Why, I didn't suppose that any intelligent person today believed the Bible!"
"Oh, yes," she said, "I believe it all. I know the Author."
The scientist was silenced. He had not a word to say.—Selected