Our Day of Praise Is Done

Our day of praise is done;

The ev­en­ing sha­dows fall;

But pass not from us with the sun

True Light that light­en­est all.

Around the throne on high

Where night can nev­er be

The white robed harp­ers of the sky

Bring cease­less hymns to Thee.

Too faint our an­thems here;

Too soon of praise we tire;

But O the strains

how full and clear

Of that eter­nal choir!

Yet

Lord

to Thy dear will

If Thou at­tune the heart

We in Thine an­gels’ mu­sic still

May bear our low­er part.

’Tis Thine each soul to calm

Each way­ward thought re­claim

And make our life a dai­ly psalm

Of glo­ry to Thy name.

A lit­tle while

and then

Shall come the glo­ri­ous end;

And songs of an­gels and of men

In per­fect praise shall blend.