Go down, great sun, into thy gold­en west,
The day is done, the hours of la­bor past;
The night’s dark sha­dows deep­en all around;
The day is ov­er; rest has come at last.

And so our life to ev­en-tide draws nigh,
Our days of change their course have al­most run;
And soon the storms of win­ter will be past,
And then comes sum­mer, and the un­set­ting sun.

And in that ho­li­er world of joy and peace,
Our sun shall rise up­on a land so blest,
That none in this poor world have words to tell
How great the joy of that pure hea­ven­ly rest.