In woodlands wild, where whispers fill the air,
O Pan, O ancient god, we sing to you in prayer.
With shaggy fur, and eyes that gleam like fire,
You dance and play the pipes that never tire.
O cloven-hoofed, O lord of all that’s free,
In mountain vale and shadowed glen, you be.
Beneath the silver moon and shining sun,
You roam the earth; you’re second unto none.
You make the shepherds laugh, the forests sing,
The nymphs and satyrs to your feasting bring.
In joy and mirth, the world does come alive,
O Pan, with you, we find the means to thrive.
O keeper of the flock and woodland kin,
You hold the secrets that are held within.
In arcane tongues, the winds to you do speak,
And in your presence, none shall be made weak.
Grant us, O Pan, a portion of your glee,
That we may live as wildly and as free.
We call your name, in forest, hill, and glen—
O Pan, O Pan, be with us once again.