To Luna, ruler of the nightime skies,
Whose shining orb the midnight light supplies.
The silver goddess, each attending star
Surrounds you as you drive your shining car.
Now waxing great and shining to the full,
The ocean tides and all earth feel your pull;
And now declining, vanishing from sight,
Once more to rise and set the dark alight.
Two horned, Diana, watching o’er the chase,
In heaven’s dome, you run your nightly race.
Obscurity is banished by your light,
When once you rise and put the dark to flight.


Saturn, father of he who fathered all
The gods and men, on whom the righteous call.
Those born in matter, to their height you raise,
Then bring them down; in time to end their days.
From starry Heaven’s union with the Earth,
You, Titan king, were brought to perfect birth.
Divine, infused in all, etherial,
All spirit, wholly immaterial,
Presiding over all the blessed you reign,
And Goodness flourishes in your domain.
Intellect supreme, guiding light of mind,
Most propitious to all of humankind.

Mars II

Hail Mars, War’s triumphant God,
Who storms through all the host,
Who makes the shout and clamour
Of battle his own boast.
With spear and shield he thunders,
And all the earth does shake;
And where he goes there follows
Grim Terror in his wake.
He drives his car and slaughters,
Until the field is red
And rushing like Scamander
From fallen foes who’ve bled;
Their wounds like springing fountains
Gush forth a purple stream,
While Mars filled full of fury
Gives out a howling scream.
Who wins the field is favoured
By Mars; he beats his foes,
Until they fall down battered
Bruised by his crushing blows.


This hymn is a submission from a guest writer. Enjoy.

Magna mater!
Greatest mother
Mirror-image of demure Demeter
Eunuchs cry your coming nearer
Cross the seas from Phrygia

Lions roaring,
Reeds are piping
Piping out the old refrain
Roars of laughter, joyous weeping
Announce the coming of your train

You who Attis loved so dear
You who to the mad appear
Bane of Carthage, pride of Troy
Sibyl-Sponsored to destroy,
Yet creating, uncreated
All the things which we enjoy
To Cybele we give our chant
To you our deepest thanks intone
For all the beauties that you grant
And all the mysteries, all your own.