Till He come O 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.

When the wea­ry ones we love
Enter on their rest above,
Seems the earth so poor and vast,
All our life joy ov­er­cast?
Hush, be ev­ery mur­mur dumb;
It is on­ly, Till He come.

Clouds and con­flicts round us press;
Would we have one sor­row less?
All the sharp­ness of the cross,
All that tells the world is lost,
Death and dark­ness, and the tomb,
Only whis­per, Till He come.

See, the feast of love is spread,
Drink the wine, and break the bread;
Sweet me­mo­ri­als, till the Lord
Calls us round His hea­ven­ly board;
Some from earth, from glo­ry some
Severed only, Till He come.