EUPOLIS'
Hymn
to
the
Creator
.
AUTHOR
of
Being
,
Source
of
Light
,
With
unfading
Beauties
bright
,
Fulness
,
Goodness
,
rolling
round
Thy
own
fair
Orb
without
a
Bound
:
Whether
Thee
thy
Supplicants
call
Truth
,
or
Good
,
or
One
,
or
All
,
Ei
or
Iao
;
Thee
we
hail
Essence
that
can
never
fail
,
Grecian
or
Barbaric
Name
,
Thy
stedfast
Being
still
the
same
.
Thee
,
when
Morning
greets
the
Skies
With
rosy
Cheeks
and
humid
Eyes
;
Thee
,
when
sweet-declining
Day
Sinks
in
purple
Waves
away
;
Thee
will
I
sing
,
O
Parent
Jove
And
teach
the
World
to
praise
and
love
.
Yonder
azure
Vault
on
high
,
Yonder
blue
,
low
,
liquid
Sky
,
Earth
on
its
firm
Basis
plac'd
,
And
with
circling
Waves
embrac'd
,
All
,
Creating
Pow'r
confess
,
All
their
mighty
Maker
bless
.
Thou
shak'st
all
Nature
with
thy
Nod
,
Sea
,
Earth
and
Air
confess
the
God
:
Yet
does
thy
pow'rful
Hand
sustain
Both
Earth
and
Heaven
,
both
Firm
and
Main
.
Scarce
can
our
daring
Thought
arise
To
thy
Pavilion
in
the
Skies
;
Nor
can
Plato's
self
declare
The
Bliss
,
the
Joy
,
the
Rapture
there
.
Barren
above
Thou
dost
not
reign
,
But
circled
with
a
glorious
Train
,
The
Sons
of
God
,
the
Sons
of
Light
,
Ever
joying
in
thy
Sight
:
(
For
Thee
their
silver
Harps
are
strung
,
)
Ever
beauteous
,
ever
young
,
Angelic
Forms
their
Voices
raise
,
And
thro'
Heav'n's
Arch
resound
thy
Praise
.
The
Feather'd
Souls
that
swim
the
Air
,
And
bathe
in
liquid
Ether
there
,
The
Lark
,
Precentor
of
their
Choir
Leading
them
higher
still
and
higher
,
Listen
and
learn
;
th'
angelic
Notes
Repeating
in
their
warbling
Throats
:
And
ere
to
soft
Repose
they
go
,
Teach
them
to
their
Lords
below
:
On
the
green
Turf
,
their
mossy
Nest
,
The
Ev'ning
Anthem
swells
their
Breast
.
Thus
like
thy
Golden
Chain
from
high
,
Thy
Praise
unites
the
Earth
and
Sky
.
Source
of
Light
,
Thou
bidst
the
Sun
On
his
burning
Axles
run
;
The
Stars
like
Dust
around
him
fly
,
And
shew
the
Area
of
the
Sky
.
He
drives
so
swift
his
Race
above
,
Mortals
can't
perceive
him
move
:
So
smooth
his
Course
,
oblique
or
strait
,
Olympus
shakes
not
with
his
Weight
.
As
the
Queen
of
solemn
Night
Fills
at
his
Vase
her
Orb
of
Light
,
Imparted
Lustre
;
Thus
we
see
,
The
solar
Virtue
shines
by
Thee
.
Eiresione
we'll
no
more
,
Imaginary
Pow'r
,
adore
;
Since
Oil
,
and
Wool
,
and
chearing
Wine
,
And
Life-sustaining
Bread
is
thine
.
Thy
Herbage
,
O
Great
Pan
,
sustains
The
Flocks
that
graze
our
Attic
Plains
;
The
Olive
,
with
fresh
Verdure
crown'd
,
Rises
pregnant
from
the
Ground
;
At
thy
Command
it
shoots
and
springs
,
And
a
thousand
Blessings
brings
.
Minerva
,
only
is
thy
Mind
,
Wisdom
,
and
Bounty
to
Mankind
.
The
fragrant
Thyme
,
the
bloomy
Rose
,
Herb
and
Flow'r
and
Shrub
that
grows
On
Thessalian
Tempe's
Plain
,
Or
where
the
rich
Sabeans
reign
,
That
treat
the
Taste
or
Smell
or
Sight
,
For
Food
,
for
Med'cine
or
Delight
;
Planted
by
thy
Parent
Care
,
Spring
and
smile
and
flourish
there
.
O
ye
Nurses
of
soft
Dreams
,
Reedy
Brooks
and
winding
Streams
,
Or
murm'ring
o'er
the
Pebbles
sheen
,
Or
sliding
thro'
the
Meadows
green
,
Or
where
thro'
matted
Sedge
you
creep
,
Travelling
to
your
Parent
Deep
:
Sound
his
Praise
,
by
whom
you
rose
,
That
Sea
,
which
neither
ebbs
nor
flows
.
O
ye
immortal
Woods
and
Groves
,
Which
the
enamour'd
Student
loves
;
Beneath
whose
venerable
shade
,
For
Thought
and
friendly
Converse
made
,
Fam'd
Hecadem
,
old
Hero
,
lies
,
Whose
Shrine
is
shaded
from
the
Skies
,
And
thro'
the
Gloom
of
silent
Night
Projects
from
far
its
trembling
Light
;
You
,
whose
Roots
descend
as
low
,
As
high
in
Air
your
Branches
grow
;
Your
leafy
Arms
to
Heav'n
extend
,
Bend
your
Heads
,
in
Homage
bend
:
Cedars
and
Pines
that
wave
above
,
And
the
Oak
belov'd
of
Jove
.
Omen
,
Monster
,
Prodigy
,
Or
nothing
are
,
or
Jove
from
Thee
!
Whether
various
Nature
play
,
Or
re-invers'd
thy
Will
obey
,
And
to
Rebel
Man
declare
Famine
,
Plague
or
Wasteful
War
.
Laugh
,
ye
Profane
,
who
dare
despise
The
threatning
Vengeance
of
the
Skies
,
Whilst
the
Pious
,
on
his
Guard
,
Undismay'd
is
still
prepar'd
:
Life
or
Death
,
his
Mind's
at
rest
,
Since
what
Thou
send'st
must
needs
be
best
.
No
Evil
can
from
Thee
proceed
:
'Tis
only
Suffer'd
,
not
Decreed
.
Darkness
is
not
from
the
Sun
,
Nor
mount
the
Shades
till
he
is
gone
:
Then
does
Night
obscene
arise
From
Erebus
,
and
fill
the
Skies
,
Fantastic
Forms
the
Air
invade
,
Daughters
of
Nothing
and
of
Shade
.
Can
we
forget
thy
Guardian
Care
,
Slow
to
punish
,
prone
to
spare
!
Thou
brak'st
the
haughty
Persian's
Pride
,
That
dar'd
old
Ocean's
Pow'r
deride
;
Their
Shipwrecks
strew'd
th'
Eubean
Wave
,
At
Marathon
they
found
a
Grave
.
O
ye
blest
Greeks
who
there
expir'd
,
For
Greece
with
pious
Ardor
fir'd
,
What
Shrines
or
Altars
shall
we
raise
To
secure
your
Endless
Praise
?
Or
need
we
Monuments
supply
,
To
rescue
what
can
never
die
!
And
yet
a
Greater
Hero
far
(
Unless
Great
Socrates
could
err
)
Shall
rise
to
bless
some
future
Day
,
And
teach
to
live
,
and
teach
to
pray
.
Come
,
Unknown
Instructor
,
come
!
Our
leaping
Hearts
shall
make
Thee
room
;
Thou
with
Jove
our
Vows
shalt
share
,
Of
Jove
and
Thee
We
are
the
Care
.
O
Father
King
,
whose
heav'nly
Face
Shines
serene
on
All
thy
Race
,
We
thy
Magnificence
adore
,
And
thy
well-known
Aid
implore
:
Nor
vainly
for
thy
Help
we
call
;
Nor
can
we
want
:
For
thou
art
All
!