Salve horologium

Hail, Dial of Achaz!
On Thee the true Sun
Told backward the course
Which from old He had run;

And, that man might be rais’d,
Submitting to shame,
A little more low
Than the Angels became.

Thou, wrapt in the blaze
Of His infinite Light,
Dost shine as the morn
On the confines of night;

As the Moon on the lost
Through obscurity dawns;
The Serpent’s Destroyer!
A Lily ’mid thorns!