Day Is Gently Sinking To A Close

our changeful lives are ebbing to an end;

onward to darkness and to death we tend;

o conqueror of the grave, be thou our guide;

be thou our light in death’s dark eventide;

then in our mortal hour will be no gloom,

no sting in death, no terror in the tomb.

thou, who in darkness walking didst appear

upon the waves, and thy disciples cheer,

come, lord, in lonesome days, when storms assail,

and earthly hopes and human succors fail;

when all is dark, may we behold thee nigh,

and hear thy voice, “fear not, for it is i.”

the weary world is moldering to decay,

its glories wane, its pageants fade away:

in that last sunset, when the stars shall fall,

may we arise, awakened by thy call,

with thee, o lord, forever to abide,

in that blest day which has no eventide.