I’ve had my hefty Bible
since I was about fifteen,
and did not want to use it
for I liked to keep it clean.
Besides, the fact I have it
ought to count to some degree.
And if I die, its presence
on my shelf will then save me.
If someone shot me in the
chest, the bullet wouldn’t hit,
but go straight to the Bible
in my pocket, should it fit.
And if my plane should suddenly
have all its engines stall,
then surely by some miracle
this book would break my fall.
But later I discovered
it’s no use unless I read
the words that God had written
so from death I could be freed.
It’s not the book that saves me
but the name that lies therein,
I’m glad I didn’t get shot or crash
before I could begin.