The day is past; the shadows round are fall­ing;
The light is fad­ing from the west­ern sky;
From the still heav’ns the ev­en­ing star is call­ing,
Bidding us rest, for night is draw­ing nigh.

From Thee they came, the hours so swift and gold­en,
All lad­en with Thy good things and Thy best;
And when we saw Thee not, our eyes were hold­en,
Both earth and Heav’n con­spired to make us blest.

The toil that pros­pered har­vests for our reapi­ng,
The plans that failed, alike were gifts of love;
All ways are Thine, and Thine the glo­ri­ous keep­ing,
In paths of peace all light­ed from ab­ove.

Thou mak­est, Lord, the ev­en­ing and the morn­ing;
The dark and light are both alike to Thee;
And some­where al­ways is the new day dawn­ing,
Bidding Thy wak­ing child­ren, come and see!