,
Youth, that without thee knows but little joy,
The jocund nymphs and blithesome Mercury.

The doctrine of an overruling Providence Horace had expressly rejected
in the Satires (Sat. iv, 101), holding that the gods are too happy and
too careless in their superior aloof security to plague themselves with
the affairs of mortals. But he felt sometimes, as all men feel, the need
of a supreme celestial Guide: in the noble Ode which Ruskin loved he
seems to find it in Necessity or Fortune (Od. I, xxxv); and once, when
scared by thunder resounding in a cloudless sky, recants what he calls
his "irrational rationalism," and admits that God may, if He will, put
down the mighty and exalt the low (I, xxxiv). So again in his hymn for
the dedication of Apollo's Temple on the Palatine (I, xxxi) a serious
note is struck. He will not ask the God for rich cornfields and fat
meadow land, for wines of Cales proffered in a golden cup. A higher boon
than these his prayer demands:

O grant me, Phoebus, calm content,
Strength unimpaired, a mind entire,
Old age without dishonour spent,
Nor unbefriended of the lyre.

On the other hand, his Ode to Melpomene (IV, iii), written in the
consciousness of accepted eminence as the national poet, "harpist of the
Roman lyre," breathes a sentiment of gratitude to Divinity far above the
typical poetic cant of homage to the Muse. And his fine Secular Hymn,
composed by Augustus's request for the great Century Games, strikes a
note of patriotic aspiration and of moral earnestness, not unworthy to
compare with King Solomon's Dedication Prayer; and is such as, with some
modernization of the Deities invoked, would hardly misbecome a national
religious festival to-day. It was sung by twenty-seven noble boys and as
many high-born maidens, now in antiphon, now in chorus, to Apollo and
Diana, as representing all the gods. Apollo, bless our city! say the
boys. Dian, bless our women and our children, say the girls, and guard
the sanctity of our marriage laws. Bring forth Earth's genial fruits,
say both; give purity to youth and peace to age. Bring back the lapsed
virtues of the Golden Age; Faith, Honour, antique Shame-fastness and
Worth, and Plenty with her teeming horn. Hear, God! hear, Goddess! Yes,
we feel our prayers are heard--

Now homeward we repair,
Full of the blessed hope which will not fail,
That Jove and all the gods have heard our prayer,
And with approving smiles