Eupolis's Hymn to the Creator, Part III

Thou, Sole from Sole, command'st the Sun Round on the burning Axles run; The Stars like Dust around him fly And sirew the Area of the Sky. He drives so swift his Race above That Mortals can't perceive him move; So smooth his Course, oblique or streight, Olympus shakes not with his Weight.

As the fair 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 Power adore, Since Oil and Wool and chearing Wine And Life-sustaining Bread are thine.

The fragrant Thyme, the bloomy Rose, Flower and Herb and Shrub that grows Or on Thessalian Tempe's Plain, Or where the rich Sabeans reign: That treat the Tast, or Smell, or Sight, For Food, for Medecine, or Delight, All planted by thy parent Care Do spring and smile and flourish there.