| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | From Year to Year (1883). I. Come ye yourselves apart | | By Edward Henry Bickersteth (18251906) |
| | | COME ye yourselves apart and rest awhile, | |
| Weary, I know it, of the press and throng, | |
| Wipe from your brow the sweat and dust of toil, | |
| And in My quiet strength again be strong. | |
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| Come ye aside from all the world holds dear | 5 |
| For converse which the world has never known, | |
| Alone with Me and with My Father here, | |
| With Me and with My Father not alone. | |
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| Come, tell Me all that ye have said and done, | |
| Your victories and failures, hopes and fears. | 10 |
| I know how hardly souls are wooed and won: | |
| My choicest wreaths are always wet with tears. | |
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| Come ye, and rest: the journey is too great, | |
| And ye will faint beside the way and sink: | |
| The bread of life is here for you to eat, | 15 |
| And here for you the wine of love to drink. | |
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| Then, fresh from converse with your Lord, return | |
| And work till daylight softens into even: | |
| The brief hours are not lost in which ye learn | |
| More of your Master and His rest in heaven. | 20 | | | |
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