And weave a garland rich and fair

To crown the King of gods.

αὐτὸς φῶς εἶ παγαῖον

Cento from Ὑμνῶμεν κοῦρον νύμφας

I

In the Father’s glory shining,

Jesus, Light of light art Thou;

Sordid night before Thee fleeth,—

On our souls Thou’rt falling now.

II