Calendar of the Sun
Elements: Fire and Air
Altar: Upon a red cloth lay swords, lined up in a row, a horn of mead, and a single glove.
Offering: Agree to a promise that limits your convenience.
Daily Meal: Red meat.
Invocation to Tyr
Honor is not comfortable.
It demands all you have,
All you are, all you can do.
It wraps you like a chain
That you may only shuffle where others run
And yet that chain will bear you up
When others trip and fall.
It limits you, like the loss of a limb;
You reach, and fall ever short,
Brought up by honor's limitation,
And yet this limiting hones you sharper,
Like a tool that must be cut down to work,
As every sharpening is removal of some of you.
O Lord of Honor, you whose name
Invoked, seals bargains without
A thought of cheating, you whose
Word is law and law is will,
You who are never afraid
To do what must needs be done
Even when there is no question
That there will be great loss,
May we all have half the steel
That lies in you, O warrior one-handed,
In your spine, in your hand,
And in your soul.
(The mead is passed by one who has been chosen, and as they pass it they say, "May honor bind
you." Each in turn replies, "May honor find you." The remainder is poured out as a libation.)
[Pagan Book of Hours]