Higgins and Miggins
Old Brother Higgins built a shelf,
For the Family Book of Mormon to rest itself,
Lest a sticky finger or a grimy thumb,
Might injure the delicate pages some.
He cautioned his children to touch it not,
It rested there with never a blot.
Though the Higgins’ tribe were a troublesome lot.
His neighbor, Miggins, built a shelf,
Come children he said and help yourself.
Now his book is old and ragged and worn,
With some of the choicest pages torn,
Where children had fingered and thumbed and read,
But of Miggins’ children I’ve heard it said,
Each carries a Book of Mormon in his head.
Author Unknown