Lykeia
O sweet voiced Muse, if but you would grace me with your song,
I would ever honor you in my hymns that that I set before the gods.
You get graceful fingers upon the lyre, and pluck the sacred golden string,
And your voices raises like the holy wind, in a voice of myriad sound.
Your song is to and of the gods, it sings of all things that are holy,
This song filters down to the voices of men, a sacred gift that they might give.
When I listen to write my sacred verse, you lean in and whisper close,
And there your voice is like many celestial choirs layering upon another.
When I go to write, these words that you do inspire to sing,
Your hand touches mine and guides the fingers to write a fair harmony.
The harmony of the worlds spinning together, that ties all life as one,
And that the gods act together, weaving a far greater masterpeice.
Hail to you many-voiced Terpsichord, deliverer of most sacred gift,
Within your blessings we learn to lift our voices clear and loud,
To sing a song, to and of gods, entwined and apart from the world of men.
The singers are blessed by your presenced and loved of the gods,
Bring to girls sweet voices singing to willowy Artemis,
And to boys Delphinian songs, to un-shorn Apollon sung.
But may my voice be so blessed, that I can sing to honor all the gods,
Dwelling of earth, heavens, and depths of the roaring seas.
May these sacred hymns pour out from within me,
Like a river that rushes on true path across green and barren lands,
Never dwindling and for all my short lived mortal days, never cease.
neosalexandria 