O Mighty Zeus, your anger roars
Casting whelm each ravaging storm,
Is your ire so driven as to show disdain
Of nights for those so worn?
This mortal mire, so spent with drear
Has bent to the limits of homage,
Grant us ease and quiet lee,
Our tire wears no plumage.
Ask us not to bear your pains
Or the thunderbolts of your cyclops,
Soothe us with welcome patter
Thru rains of gentler drops.