αὐτὸς γὰρ τά γε σήματ᾽ ἐν οὐρανῷ ἐστήριξεν,
ἄστρα διακρίνας, ἐσκέψατο δ᾽ εἰς ἐνιαυτὸν
ἀστέρας οἵ κε μάλιστα τετυγμένα σημαίνοιεν
ἀνδράσιν ὡράων, ὄφρ᾽ ἔμπεδα πάντα φύωνται.
τῶ μιν ἀεὶ πρῶτόν τε καὶ ὕστατον ἱλάσκονται.
χαῖρε, πάτερ, μέγα θαῦμα, μέγ᾽ ἀνθρώποισιν ὄνειαρ.
Let us begin from Jove. Let every mortal raise
His grateful voice to tune Jove's endless praise.
Jove fills the heaven—the earth—the sea—the air:
We feel his spirit moving here and every where.
And we his offspring are. He ever good
Daily provides for man his daily food.
Ordains the seasons by his signs on high,
Studding with gems of light the azure canopy.
What time with plough or spade to break the soil,
That plenteous store may bless the reaper's toil,
What time to plant and prune the vine he shews,
And hangs the purple cluster on its boughs.
To Him—the First—the Last—all homage yield:
Our Father—Wonderful—our Help—our Shield.
St Paul, himself a citizen of Tarsus, and probably instructed in the celebrated schools of his native city in those branches of profane literature and science, in which he excelled, would with peculiar propriety quote to his learned audience the words of the poet of his own country; and by so doing shew to them, that he was not (as the Greeks reported the Christians to be) a neglecter and despiser of those acquirements, for which the age was celebrated, and which in the opinion of an Athenian audience constituted the
