Zeus of the lightning-strike, Zeus of the sturdy oak,
we hear you in the clash of thunder, we see you
in the bright-lit night, we feel you in the air,
in the exhilaration of the storm. I praise you,
O god whose will it is that the clouds gather low
in the sky, whose gift of rain pulls life from the earth.
Great Zeus, friend of those who wander the world,
of those who are ever again among strangers,
friend of those who rely on the honor and virtue
of others, I praise you, O god of the righteous
whose wrath falls on those who prey on the exile
and the outcast, the recluse and the solitary.
Zeus of the prophets, Zeus of many oracles,
kindly one whose words we hear in silent voices
or see in the throw of the bones, whose messages
we know by their truth alone. I praise you,
O god who is the source of all visions and signs,
of all that is foretold by mortal seekers and seers.