Ast heroic chances of the never-ending

fray, From the Mount of High Endeavour, In the hope of Thy For Ever,-- _Evening brings us home at last, To trust and peace, and Thee._ From our toilings
and our moilings, from the quest of daily bread, From the worship of our idols, and the burying of our dead, Like children, worn and weary With the way so long

and dreary,-- _Evening brings us home at last, To rest, and love, and Thee._ From our journeyings oft and many over strange and stormy
seas, From our search the wide world over for the larger liberties, From
our labours vast and various, With our harvestings precarious,--
_Evening brings us home at last, To
safety, rest, and Thee._ From the yet-untrodden No-Lands, where we sought Thy secrets out, From the blizzards of the Nightlands, and the blazing White-Lands'
drought, From the undiscovered country Where our IS is yet to be,-- _Evening brings us home at
last, To welcome cheer, and Thee._ From the temples of our living, all empurpled with Thy giving,
>From the warp of life thick-threaded with the gold of Thine inweaving, From the days so full of splendour, From the visions
rare and tender,-- _Evening brings us home at last, To

quiet rest in Thee._ From the Dim-Lands, from the Grim-Lands,
from the Lands of High Emprise, From the Lands of Disillusion to the Truth that never dies; With rejoicing and with singing, Each his rightful sheaves home-bringing,--