Shrine of Wisdom Magazine 29 (1926)
'To the Muses'
That light uplifting, light of men, I sing,
Nine sweet-voiced daughters of the All-Mighty King,
Who souls ensnared, that life's abysses bind,
By sacred rites from books that rouse the mind,
From earth-born fateful woes draw up and save;
Who teach to hasten o'er deep Lethe's wave,
Keep the true way, seek, pure, their native star
Whence they have strayed, whence fallen deep and far
To generation's shore, where madness runs
To its inheritance of dust. O Heavenly Ones,
Quench in my heart this agitated fire,
With Wisdom's pure noeric words inspire.
Let none seduce to superstition's sway
From the all-fruitful, gleaming, sacred way.
From generation's clamorous mazy night
Draw up my wandering soul to purest light;
Grant from ambrosial books deep-laden store
Of Wisdom and that glory evermore
Bestow - heart-soothing eloquence. O hear,
Ye who the barque of sacred Wisdom steer,
Who souls of men that touch the uplifting flame
(Made pure by hymns and rites that none may name,
And soaring from the dark profound abyss)
Restore to immortality and bliss.
Hear, Mighty Saviours! Bend your holy light
From sacred books, and put these mists to flight;
That I Immortal Gods and men may know.
Ne'er 'neath the gliding waves of Lethe's flow
May dæmon work my soul disastrous ill
And keep me from the Gods far distant still.
Let no chill Fury overlong enslave
My unwilling soul that in the icy wave
Of generation's flood long since did fall,
Nor with constraining bonds my life enthrall.
But ye who are bright Wisdom's Hierophants
All glorious Nine, O hear. My spirit pants
Upon the path that leadeth to the height -
Unveil the mysteries of the Words of Light.
Hymn of Proclus (Translated by the Editors of The Shrine of Wisdom)
Nine sweet-voiced daughters of the All-Mighty King,
Who souls ensnared, that life's abysses bind,
By sacred rites from books that rouse the mind,
From earth-born fateful woes draw up and save;
Who teach to hasten o'er deep Lethe's wave,
Keep the true way, seek, pure, their native star
Whence they have strayed, whence fallen deep and far
To generation's shore, where madness runs
To its inheritance of dust. O Heavenly Ones,
Quench in my heart this agitated fire,
With Wisdom's pure noeric words inspire.
Let none seduce to superstition's sway
From the all-fruitful, gleaming, sacred way.
From generation's clamorous mazy night
Draw up my wandering soul to purest light;
Grant from ambrosial books deep-laden store
Of Wisdom and that glory evermore
Bestow - heart-soothing eloquence. O hear,
Ye who the barque of sacred Wisdom steer,
Who souls of men that touch the uplifting flame
(Made pure by hymns and rites that none may name,
And soaring from the dark profound abyss)
Restore to immortality and bliss.
Hear, Mighty Saviours! Bend your holy light
From sacred books, and put these mists to flight;
That I Immortal Gods and men may know.
Ne'er 'neath the gliding waves of Lethe's flow
May dæmon work my soul disastrous ill
And keep me from the Gods far distant still.
Let no chill Fury overlong enslave
My unwilling soul that in the icy wave
Of generation's flood long since did fall,
Nor with constraining bonds my life enthrall.
But ye who are bright Wisdom's Hierophants
All glorious Nine, O hear. My spirit pants
Upon the path that leadeth to the height -
Unveil the mysteries of the Words of Light.
Hymn of Proclus (Translated by the Editors of The Shrine of Wisdom)