Horace, Ode 34

Parcus deorum cultor et infrequens...

At one time the god I prayed to was me,
I glorified the labyrinth my thoughts made
on their way from zilch to nothing.
But now my feet face back toward heaven.

There is only one who can divide dark with light.
Only one who can make a noise of a cloud,
set time on track, and shake the very ground,
only one who fills a clear sky with brooding.

The earth's a brutal, heartless place,
its rivers wild, and hell is surely hateful,
and even if the myths are true of life in lifeless places,
they all were born of god and bent by him.

It's god's best trick, the old switcheroo.
If you're outstanding, you'll soon lick obscure boots.
If you're a king, soon you'll screech like one,
and hand over your crown to an exile.