I call to Tyche, friend of the Fates, mistress
of fair fortune who holds the rudder of all ships,
who bears the shining horn of Amalthea,
who wears the mural crown, whose face was graven
upon gold, tossed in the air when a choice need be made.
In times of old men named you Eutykhia;
they threw the dice with eyes tight shut and trusted
in your goodness. I call to you, Eutykhia,
I pray to you, O goddess, grant to me the good.
Kind-hearted Tyche, granter of fortune good or ill,
you hold in your hands prosperity, to give
or to withhold. You throw the bones, you spin the wheel,
you cut the cards before each game we play; Tyche,
your hand is in each chance we take, each hunch we follow.
We make our choices, Tyche, by whim or with care;
we plan our lives, we attempt to create the best
of possible outcomes; we reckon the odds and place
our bets. We do what we can, goddess, to craft
our world as we would wish it, and yet
so much of life is not ours to plan, so much
of choice is blind or faulty, so much of
what is, is unclear or unknown–by all our will
and all our skill we cannot form our world entire.
Tyche, blessed one, where our own efforts cannot
prevail, your might can tip the scale. Your favor,
goddess, can enrich our lives; its lack can break us.
Tyche, compassionate one, I praise and honor you.
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.