The mel­low eve is glid­ing
Serenely down the west;
So, ev­ery care sub­sid­ing,
My soul would sink to rest.

The wood­land hum is ring­ing
The day­light’s gen­tle close;
May an­gels round me, sing­ing,
Thus hymn my last re­pose.

The ev­en­ing star has light­ed
Her crys­tal lamp on high;
So, when in death be­night­ed,
May hope il­lume the sky.

In gold­en splen­dor dawn­ing,
The mor­row’s light shall break;
Oh, on the last bright morn­ing,
May I in glo­ry wake!