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.