Behold the west­ern ev­en­ing light!
It melts in deep­en­ing gloom:
So calm­ly Chris­tians sink away,
Descending to the tomb.
The winds breathe low, the wi­ther­ing leaf
Scarce whis­pers from the tree;
So gent­ly flows the part­ing breath,
When good men cease to be.

How beau­ti­ful on all the hills
The crim­son light is shed!
’Tis like the peace the Chris­tian gives
To mourn­ers round his bed.
How mild­ly on the wan­der­ing cloud
The sun­set beam is cast!
’Tis like the me­mo­ry left be­hind
When loved ones breathe their last.

And now ab­ove the dew of night
The ves­per star ap­pears:
So faith springs in the heart of those
Whose eyes are dim with tears.
Night falls, but soon the morn­ing light
Its glo­ry shall re­store,
And thus the eyes that sleep in death
Shall wake to close no more.