by Amanda Artemisia Forrester
O great Muses who poets doth revere
Lend me Your voices
And attend my songs.
I sing first a hymn of Prometheus, the wise Titan,
First trickster, martyr for man
Who crafted our mortal flesh
From the clay of the River Styx,
Life, from the River of Death.
Before Prometheus intervened on our behalf
We lived as animals do
In caves, huddling together for warmth
And in fear of the larger animals
Naked, eating our meat raw.
Then kindly Prometheus took pity on us,
For He saw our potential.
Cunning Prometheus who processes fore-sight
Taught us the ways of the land
To tell the future from the stars
To hunt, to make warm clothes from fur and skin
And to build houses made of brick.
But still we mortals huddled together
In the cold of night.
Only fire could cure our ills,
Fire, meant only for the Gods.
O Prometheus, You Who tells the future,
You knew the the price You would have to pay.
Still You stole the Divine Fire for our benefit
And arranged the institution
Of sacrifices to the Immortal Gods.
For Your trickery, Zeus sentenced You to a most awful fate
Chained to a great stone
To have Your immortal liver, the seat of feeling
Eaten by an eagle. Every night it grew back
And every day it was eaten again.
And still, You never regretted Your actions.
Eventually, many ages passed,
And lion-hearted Hercules freed You from Your chains.
Friend of man, Who suffered for our sake,
If any of the Immortal Gods deserve to be called Our Father
Surely it is You, O wise Prometheus
Who taught us many useful things
Who gave divine fire to mankind
Who deemed us worthy of the sacrifice.
Kindly Prometheus, Wise teacher,
Grant that I may live up to your esteem
And I will remember You in another song.