Come — and Rest.

"Come ye yourselves apart and rest awhile."

How rich the recompense for hours of toil —
 The presence of our Lord!
To Him without the camp let us draw near
With hearts where perfect love has cast out fear,
And in such gracious tender accents hear
 His ever precious word.

"Come ye yourselves apart" to sacred bower
Where dew-drops glisten on the fragrant flower —
 Is this our place of rest?
Nay, He who chose the desert bleak and lone,
Where round His holy form the wind did moan,
Must give no shelter to His own
 Than on His loving breast.

"Come ye yourselves apart:" in days of old
Exultant followers their triumphs told
 To One who sympathised.
How they the feeble mind and limb made sound,
The fettered captives' cruel chains unbound
His reassuring smile their service crowned —
 And this they greatly prized.

"Come ye yourselves apart." Oh tender call!
Stifling the sob within the breasts of all
 The loyal friends of John.
He who for Christ such splendid witness bore
Was dead; "the voice of one" would cry no more:
They came and found where all was dark before
 The light of noon-day shone.

"Come ye yourselves apart and rest awhile."
May we know more the sweetness of the smile
 He still in glory wears
For those who in the attitude of prayer
With Him their every joy and sorrow share.
Christ only has the ever open ear,
 He only knows and cares.
E. Scougal.