Since in Athens God stood plain for adoration, Since the sun beheld his likeness reared in stone, Since the bronze or gold of human consecration Gave to Greece her guardian's form and feature shown, Never hand of sculptor, never heart of nation, Found so glorious aim in all these ages flown As is theirs who rear for all time's acclamation Here the likeness of our mightiest and their own.
Theirs and ours and all men's living who behold him Crowned with garlands multiform and manifold; Praise and thanksgiving of all mankind enfold him Who for all men casts abroad his gifts of gold. With the gods of song have all men's tongues enrolled him, With the helpful gods have all men's hearts enrolled: Ours he is who love him, ours whose hearts' hearts hold him Fast as his the trust that hearts like his may hold.
He, the heart most high, the spirit on earth most blameless, Takes in charge all spirits, holds all hearts in trust: As the sea-wind's on the sea his ways are tameless, As the laws that steer the world his works are just. All most noble feel him nobler, all most shameless Feel his wrath and scorn make pale their pride and lust: All most poor and lowliest, all whose wrongs were nameless, Feel his word of comfort raise them from the dust.
Pride of place and lust of empire bloody-fruited Knew the blasting of his breath on leaf and fruit: Now the hand that smote the death-tree now disrooted Plants the refuge-tree that has man's hope for root. Ah, but we by whom his darkness was saluted, How shall now all we that see his day salute? How should love not seem by love's own speech confuted, Song before the sovereign singer not be mute?
With what worship, by what blessing, in what measure, May we sing of him, salute him, or adore, With what hymn for praise, what thanksgiving for pleasure, Who had given us more than heaven, and gives us more? Heaven's whole treasury, filled up full with night's whole treasure, Holds not so divine or deep a starry store As the soul supreme that deals forth worlds at leisure Clothed with light and darkness, dense with flower and ore.
Song had touched the bourn: fresh verses overflow it, Loud and radiant, waves on waves on waves that throng; Still the tide grows, and the sea-mark still below it Sinks and shifts and rises, changed and swept along. Rose it like a rock? the waters overthrow it, And another stands beyond them sheer and strong: Goal by goal pays down its prize, and yields its poet Tribute claimed of triumph, palm achieved of song.