I call to bright Apollon.
Of clear sight and sure hunter’s step,
Whose passing is like wind in the tree tops.
Delian Apollon, whose hands hold equal skill
On both lyre- and bow-string.
Your presence is like sunlight through the forest canopy,
Filtering down soft and warm and geeen,
To encourage new growth.
From your sure hands come healing,
And from those same hands, the storm of plague.
Your guidance can be seen in flight of arrow and honeybee,
And your music fills the air around both.
Noble and dread god, wreathed in laurel,
Who loves the wild meadows and forests
And whose messages come on the night-dark wings of crows,
Speak, and I will listen.
Your far-seeing eyes shine like stars in the darkness,
Your guidance lights the path like sunlight breaking through clouds.
True of word and deed, bacchic and wild I call to you,
Turn your shining face to this rite.