The du­te­ous day now clos­eth,
Each flow­er and tree re­pos­eth,
Shade creeps o’er wild and wood:
Let us, as night is fall­ing,
On God our mak­er call­ing,
Give thanks to Him, the Giv­er good.

Now all the heav’n­ly splen­dor
Breaks forth in star­light ten­der
From my­ri­ad worlds un­known;
And man, the mar­vel see­ing,
Forgets his self­ish be­ing,
For joy of beau­ty not his own.

His care he drown­eth yon­der,
Lost in the ab­yss of won­der;
To Heav’n his soul doth steal:
This life he dis­es­teem­eth,
The day it is that dream­eth,
That doth from truth his vi­sion seal.

Awhile his mor­tal blind­ness
May miss God’s lov­ing­kind­ness,
And grope in faith­less strife:
But when life’s day is ov­er
Shall death’s fair night dis­co­ver
The fields of ev­er­last­ing life.