Poem May 21, 1938 Issue

Come Ye Apart and Rest

VERA CONSTANCE HOWARD

Above sin's clamor, stress of pain—all turmoil—
To weary warriors sick at heart, oppressed,
There breathes a still small voice; with sweet persuasion,
To thee it calls, Come ye apart and rest.

Come ye apart from that that sense of selfhood,
Which pictures thee as mortal, sojourning here
Amid a changing world of things uncertain,
Its bright tomorrow tinged with doubt and fear.

Rest in the understanding of thy Maker,
Thou perfect likeness of the perfect Mind.
Girt with His love, reflecting His all-power,
Go forth with joy—forget those things behind.

Ye dwell forever in your Father's presence,
Where naught but life, peace, health, and good are found;
Cast off thy shoes of doubt, don robes of praising,
And prove that now ye stand on holy ground!

Send a comment to the editors

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit

Come Ye Apart and Rest

We'd love to hear from you!

Sign up for unlimited access