There is a precious volume of pages worn and old,
in that little log cabin by the sea.
It is the old, old Bible, more precious now than gold,
it's the Bible that my mother gave to me.
'Tis the old precious Bible, blessed Bible,
that she read in the cabin by the sea (by the sea).
The precious, precious Bible the blessed, blessed Bible,
the Bible that my mother gave to me.
How often I have listened to the countless sounds and raves
round that little log cabin by the sea,
while mother read of Jesus, who walked upon the waves,
how Jesus calmed the stormy Gallilee.
How often, oh how often she read of glowing mirth,
with a message from the precious word above.
It told of faithful Daniel who trusted in the Lord,
while she led me in the pathway that she brought.
There is no other volume so precious as this book,
it tells me how to live and how to die,
it tells me of that city, oh wondrous, wondrous look,
and that I'll meet my loved ones by and by.