Orison of a Sun Worshiper
Norah Steed
In olden times, the faithful said,
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
But now we speak this thanks instead:
Prayers for the light by which we’re fed.
In the fields our penance see,
Tilling, planting, willingly,
As we toil, hear us pray
In reverence towards light and day.
And from the Earth, we servants sing,
Sweet praises to the orbiting
Of lives and stars to which they cling,
A calloused, dirt-caked reveling.
The elders say, in times of old,
The streets of Heaven were paved with gold.
When Earth was all and men were king,
When light was but a passing thing.
Before the smog and smoke and heat.
Before their God did cry defeat.
The Earth stood still that fabled day,
A hardened bead of silt and clay.
And at that time, the elders say,
Is when the night did pass away.
And in the East a flame was born,
And with it brought the constant morn.
Bare strong, my eyes, hold fast, my heart,
As truths of light and life impart.
How man may live in peace, and more,
How Sister Earth may be restored.
How Mother Sun, removed by sky,
Did not suffer, bleed, and die,
But stood e’er fixed, and in Her way,
Returned again and brought the day.