Come, O blessed Paian, O slayer of Titanos, O Phoibos, O Lykoreus;
A giver of riches are you and an illustrious dweller of Memphis, O god to whom one cries IE.
To you, O Titan and Pythian god, belong the lyre, and seeds and plows.
Grynean, Sminthian, slayer of Pytho, Delphic diviner,
you are a wild, light-bringing and lovable god, O glorious youth.
You shoot your arrows from afar, you lead the Muses into dance,
and, O holy one, you are Bakkhos, Didymeus, and Loxias, too.
Lord of Delos, eye that sees all and brings light to mortals,
golden is your hair, and clear your oracular utterance.
Hear me with kindly heart as I pray for people.
You gaze upon all the ethereal vastness,
and upon the rich earth you look through the twilight.
In the quiet darkness of a night lit with stars
you see earth’s roots below, and you hold the bounds
of the whole world. Yours, too, are the beginning and the end to come.
You make everything bloom, and with your versatile lyre
you harmonize the poles, now reaching the highest pitch,
now the lowest, and now again with the Doric mode
balancing the poles harmoniously, as you keep the living races distinct.
You have infused harmony into all men’s lot,
giving them an equal measure of summer and winter.
The lowest notes you strike in the winter, the highest in the summer,
and your mode is Doric for spring’s lovely and blooming season.
Wherefore mortals call you lord, and Pan,
the two-horned god who sends the whistling winds.
For this, too, you have the master seal of the entire cosmos.
O blessed one, hear the suppliant voice of the initiates and save them.