I call to Tyche, goddess who spins the wheel,
who throws the dice, who guides the course of our lives.
In ancient times your temples stood across the land,
your image carved in stone or cast in shining bronze,
garlanded with bright flowers, offered sweet incense
and honeyed wine. Ever were prayers on the lips
of those who sought your favor, ever were songs
of praise sung out by those who received your comfort.
We see you in the ebb and flow of the world’s well-being;
we know you in the uncertainty of our lives;
we praise you for your mercy, we thank you for your bounty.
Gracious Tyche, friend of the hopeful and the lost,
friend of those who struggle, friend of those who tempt fortune
and those who hold each blessing close, high-crowned Tyche,
guardian of serendipity, I call to you.