Bishop Bickersteth

7.7.7.7.7.7.

“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

Lie beyond that “Till He come!”

2

When the weary ones we love

Enter on their rest above,

Seems the world so poor and vast?

All our life-joy overcast?

Hush! be every murmur dumb,

It is only “Till He come!”

3

Clouds and darkness round us press;

Would we have one sorrow less?

All the sharpness of the cross,

All that tells the world is loss,

Death, and darkness, and the tomb,

Only whisper, “Till He come!”

4

See the feast of love is spread,

Drink the wine and break the bread:

Sweet memorials, till the Lord

Call us round His heavenly board;

Some from earth, from glory some,

Severed only “Till He come!”