| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | From Year to Year (1883).
IV. “‘Till He come’” | | By Edward Henry Bickersteth (1825–1906) |
| | | “TILL He come,” Oh, let the words | |
| Linger on the trembling chords; | |
| Let the little while between | |
| In their golden light be seen; | |
| Let us think how heaven and home | 5 |
| Lie beyond that “Till He come.” | |
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| When the weary ones we love | |
| Enter on their rest above, | |
| Seems the earth so poor and vast, | |
| All our life-joy overcast? | 10 |
| Hush, be every murmur dumb: | |
| It is only, “Till He come.” | |
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| Clouds and conflicts round us press; | |
| Would we have one sorrow less? | |
| All the sharpness of the cross, | 15 |
| All that tells the world is loss, | |
| Death, and darkness, and the tomb, | |
| Only whisper, “Till He come.” | |
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| See the fast of love is spread, | |
| Drink the wine, and eat the bread: | 20 |
| Sweet memorials,—till the Lord | |
| Call us round His heavenly board; | |
| Some from earth, from glory some, | |
| Severed only “Till He come.” | | | | |
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