Chapter 18

“There is one God, in truth there is but one, Who made the heavens and the broad earth beneath, The glancing waves of ocean and the winds But many of us mortals err in heart, And set up for a solace in our woes Images of the gods in stone and wood, Or figures carved in brass or ivory, And, furnishing for these our handiworks, Both sacrifice and rite magnificent, We think that thus we do a pious work.”

Thus, then, Sophocles.