Sitting in front of the fireplace,
Foot across the other knee,
Bible in his rough calloused hands,
Teaching my siblings and me.

Many times this scene played out,
Daily the Bible was read,
Explaining the scriptures to us,
Praying before going to bed.

I remember his telling of,
Jonah swallowed by the big whale,
The disciples calling Jesus,
When their faith in the storm would fail.

Joseph sold by his brothers,
Jealous of a many colored coat,
They gave the robe to Jacob,
Covered in the blood of a slain goat.

Many times he read these stories,
And to this day I can recall,
The tears that fell when he read,
How Jesus died to save us all.

Your sins come back to haunt you,
As sure as the sun rises in the sky,
Papa heavily stressed the need,
Upon Jesus we should always rely.

Papa was old and worn,
Many years working the soil,
Never giving up his faith,
He often prayed as he toiled.

Loudly singing songs of praise as,
He picked cotton or pulled ears of corn,
A sermon often came about of,
The Saviour's blessings when we're reborn.

He would not let a chance go by,
To teach us right from wrong,
Days spent working on the farm,
Kept body and faith strong.

Children grown and moved away,
Papa has finished his Earthly stay,
But the love he had for Jesus,
Still resides in each of us today.

Papa has gone on to Heaven,
His days of hard work are o'er,
I know he looks down upon us,
As he waits on Heaven's shore.

His Bible is safely stowed away,
With memories of his deep love,
And we carry that same devotion,
We'll one day join him up above.

Gayle Davis©
28 January 2009
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