Savior, when night in­volves the skies,
My soul, ador­ing, turns to Thee;
Thee, self abased in mor­tal guise,
And wrapped in shades of death for me.

On Thee my wak­ing rap­tures dwell,
When crim­son gleams the east adorn,
Thee, Vic­tor of the grave and hell,
Thee, Source of life’s eter­nal morn.

When noon her throne in light ar­rays,
To Thee my soul tri­um­phant springs;
Thee, throned in glo­ry’s end­less blaze,
Thee, Lord of lords and King of kings.

O’er earth, when shades of ev­en­ing steal,
To death and Thee my thoughts I give;
To death, whose pow­er I soon shall feel,
To Thee, with whom I trust to live.