I Call strong Pan, the substance of the whole, etherial,

marine, earthly, general soul,

Immortal fire; for all the world is thine, and all are

parts of thee, O pow'r divine.

Come, blessed Pan, whom rural haunts delight, come,

leaping, agile, wand'ring, starry light;

The Hours and Seasons [Horai], wait thy high command, and

round thy throne in graceful order stand.

Goat-footed, horned, Bacchanalian Pan, fanatic pow'r,

from whom the world began,

Whose various parts by thee inspir'd, combine in endless

dance and melody divine.

In thee a refuge from our fears we find, those fears

peculiar to the human kind.

Thee shepherds, streams of water, goats rejoice, thou

lov'st the chace, and Echo's secret voice:

The sportive nymphs, thy ev'ry step attend, and all thy

works fulfill their destin'd end.

O all-producing pow'r, much-fam'd, divine, the world's

great ruler, rich increase is thine.