When fails the light at sunset gray,
And twilight listens for my song—
This know the stars—in bright array
My praises mingle with their throng.
λύπαις δ’ ἄστιπτος ψυχά
A Cento from Ὑμνῶμεν κοῦρον νύμφας
I
O may my soul, uncrushed by care,
Direct her gaze to where Thou art,
And in Thy splendour find, O Christ,