Orphic hymn of Apollo

Apóllôn, Incense: mánna.¹

Come blessed healer, slayer of Tityós, the Shining One of Parnassós,
Memphian, renowned, exclaimed with cries of joy, bestower of bliss,
Bearing a golden lyre, generative, agrarian, Pythian, Titan,
Gryneian, Sminthéfs, slayer of the Pýthohn, Dælphic, Oracular one,
Wild, radiant divinity, lovely one, glorious son,
Leader of the Mousai, who creates joy, whose arrows achieve their aim, mighty archer,
Vrángkheian and Didymæan, you who achieve from afar, prophet, holy one,
Delian king who has eyes shining light on mortals,
Golden-haired, you who bring to light clear oracular utterances,
Hear me with gracious soul as I pray on behalf of mankind,
For you gaze upon all the boundless Aithír,
And upon the blessed earth and from above through the night
In the peace of the night with its starry-eyed darkness
You cast light upon the roots below and hold the boundaries of the whole kózmos:
For the origin and completion are both in your care,
The cause of the blooming of all things; with your resonant lyre you harmonize the entire axis of the heavens,
At one time advancing to the lowest pitch,
And at another to the highest, at times in the Dorian mode,
You temper the entire axis; you keep the tribes of living creatures distinct,
You have mingled in harmony the share of all mortal men,
You have mixed an equal measure of winter and summer,
You have arranged the highest three strings in the winter, the lowest in the summer,
You are the seasonal Dorian flower of the lovely spring,
Thereupon the mortals celebrate and call you lord and
Pan, the two-horned God who sends the whistling winds,
Wherefore you bear the formative seal of the entire Kózmos.
Hear, happy one, my supplicating voice, thus saving the initiates!