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 lightest all.

Around the throne on high,
Where night can never be,
The white-robed angels 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!

'Tis Thine each soul to calm,
Each wayward tho't reclaim,
And make our life a daily psalm
Of glory to Thy name.