EUPOLIS' Hymn to the Creator. Rev. Samuel Wesley Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T31323 K034809.000 Wesley, John, 1703-1791. Wesley, Charles, 1707-1788. Hymns and sacred poems: Published by John Wesley, ... and Charles Wesley, ... London printed by William Strahan; and sold by James Hutton; and at Mr. Bray's 1739 pp. 1-5. x,[6],223,[1]p.; 12⁰.

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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 !