| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | From Year to Year (1883).
III. “My work is done” | | By Edward Henry Bickersteth (1825–1906) |
| | | “MY work is done, I lay me down to die, | |
| Weary and travel-worn I long for rest, | |
| Speak but the word, dear Master, and I fly, | |
| A dove let loose, to nestle in Thy breast.” | |
| “Not yet, My child, a little longer wait, | 5 |
| I need thy prayerful watch at glory’s gate!” | |
| |
| “But, Lord, I have no strength to watch and pray; | |
| My spirit is benumb’d, and dim my sight; | |
| And I shall grieve Thy watchful love, as they | |
| Who in the garden slept that Paschal night.” | 10 |
| “My child, I need thy weakness hour by hour | |
| To prove in Me, thy strengthlessness is power.” | |
| |
| “Not for myself alone I urge the suit; | |
| But loved ones lose for me life’s priceless bloom, | |
| And tender, patient, uncomplaining, mute, | 15 |
| Wear out their joyance in my darken’d room.” | |
| “Enough, My child, I need their love to thee: | |
| Around thy couch they minister to Me.” | |
| |
| “It is enough, dear Master; yea, Amen, | |
| I will not breathe one murmur of reply, | 20 |
| Only fulfil Thy work in me, and then | |
| Call me and bid me answer,—‘Here am I.’” | |
| “My child, the sign I waited for is given, | |
| Thy work is done, I need thee now in heaven. | | | | |
|
|
