Prayers to Satre (Saturn)

 

Etruscan Prayer to Satre

O Thou, Satre, whose dominion is the relentless passage of ages and the unyielding earth from which all sustenance doth spring! Before Time was reckoned by lesser beings, Thy shadowed presence presided, stern and contemplative. Thy beard, like hoarfrost on the winter field, cascades with the weight of ages uncounted; Thine eyes hold the reflection of stars long extinguished and harvests yet unsown.

Thou art the measure, the inevitable cycle that guides the ploughman’s hand and ripens the clustered grape upon the vine. By Thy decree doth the seed awaken in the dark embrace of the soil, pushing forth the tender shoot towards the light bestowed by Usil. Yet, it is Thy authority that commands the reaping, the gathering-in, the return to stillness when the year’s toil is concluded.

We perceive Thee not in the fleeting flash of the lightning, nor hear Thee in the thunder’s sudden clap, but in the patient revolution of the seasons, in the inexorable march of moons, in the slow crumbling of mountain rock and the fading memory of mortal men. The Fates themselves weave their intricate patterns under Thy solemn gaze, their threads reflecting Thy profound and immutable designs.

Therefore, we bring unto Thee now, not the swift sacrifice of the palpitating heart, but the first fruits of the earth, symbols of Thy bounty: the heavy wheaten sheaf, bound with reverence; the dark wine, rich with the sun’s captured fire; the oil, pressed from the ancient olive groves that cling to our hillsides. Accept these offerings, O Master of Endings and Beginnings!

Look favourably upon Thy people, who strive to comprehend the portents whispered in the rustling leaves and the configuration of the sacred entrails. Grant that our furrows may be straight, our harvests plentiful, and our allotted spans measured with kindness rather than severity. 

Thou art the keeper of this truth, the silent witness to the dance of creation and dissolution. Satre, Unseen Regulator, Father of Toil and Rest, receive this our humble but sincere adoration, as befits Thy grave and enduring majesty! So let it be spoken, so let it be heard in the deep recesses of the world.

Etruscan prayer to Satre.

O August Satre, Thou Ancient One, whose dominion is measured not in the fleeting reigns of mortals, but in the slow and inexorable turning of the ages; unto Thee we lift our voices from the soil Thou dost govern. Before Thy profound countenance, the very stars maintain their appointed stations, and the seasons, in their solemn procession, march according to Thy silent decree.

Thou art the Keeper of the Seed, the Watcher over the furrowed field. When the earth lies fallow and cold, awaiting the quickening touch, it is Thy spirit that slumbers within, promising the eventual resurgence. When the sprout doth pierce the dark soil, it is a testament to Thy enduring power, a signal of the life Thou dost permit to unfold. We beseech Thee, look with favour upon the tilled earth, that it may yield its bounty in due time, lest hunger stalk the settlements of men.

Thy nature, O Satre, is bound to the deep knowledge of what Was, and the unwavering certainty of What Must Be. Thou holdest the memory of the world's beginning, and in Thy grasp lies the measure of its continuance. The threads of destiny, though spun by other hands, are woven upon the loom whose frame Thou dost steadfastly uphold. Grant unto Thy priests the wisdom to perceive the patterns Thou hast ordained, to understand the portents written in the flight of birds and the entrails of the sacrifice, that we might align our fleeting days with Thine eternal order.

Let not Thy aspect be turned against us in severity; temper Thy judgement with the patience of the deep earth. Accept these offerings, poured out upon Thine altar – the first fruits, the dark wine – tokens of our reverence and our dependence upon Thy cosmic governance. For Thou art the foundation upon which the cycles rest, the anchor of time itself, the venerable power dwelling in the quiet depths of the turning year. We bow before Thy veiled might, O Satre, acknowledging Thy sovereignty over the long count of seasons and the lives committed therein.