Poem September 12, 1931 Issue

Rest

HELEN GILCHRIST

"Come unto me," the loving words fell softly,
"Come unto me, . . . and I will give you rest."
The crowd stood silent, gazing in dull wonder.
"Come unto me," the children nearer pressed.

Whence had he rest to give? men asked each other,
Touched by some buried hope, long, long unstirred.
Surely this stranger had no wealth, no kingdom,
Yet hope within them answered to his word.

But then a man drew back and cried, Blasphemer!
A woman called her children. Puzzled, grim,
The crowd receded, stirred yet unbelieving.
"Come unto me" — what could they get from him?

Yet there were some who waited for his message,
Seeking the Way, the Truth, the Life, and knew
Rest to their hearts, Love's yoke laid light upon them,
All earth transformed, and Truth forever true.

And still Christ calls, and still to those who answer,
The Word of God comes home in certain peace.
Burdens grow light, faith rests in understanding,
And finds for every ill Love's sure release.

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