In Every Sorrowing Soul I Pour'd Delight,

Bad Herdsmen Waste The Flocks Which Thou Hast Left Behind.

Goddess-nurse Of The Young, Give Ear To My Prayer, And Grant That This Woman May Reject The Love-embraces Of Youth And Dote On Grey-haired Old Men Whose Powers Are Dulled, But Whose Hearts Still Desire.

The God Of War Will See Fair Play-he's Often Slain That Wants To Slay!

Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile, Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile

One Man Is A Splendid Fighter -- A God Has Made Him So -- One's A Dancer, Another Skilled At Lyre And Song, And Deep In The Next Man's Chest Farseeing Zeus Plants The Gift Of Judgment, Good Clear Sense. And Many Reap The Benefits Of That Treasure.