Bishop Bickersteth
“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!”