13 Goals of a Witch
by Scott Cunningham, Wicca for the Solitary Practitioner, 1988
Charge of the God
I am the radiant King of the Heavens,
flooding the Earth with warmth and encouraging the hidden
seed of creation to burst forth into manifestation.
I lift my shining spear to light the lives of all beings
and daily pour forth my golden rays upon the Earth,
putting to flight the powers of darkness.
I am the spirit of all beasts wild and free.
I run with the stag and soar as a sacred falcon against
the shimmering sky.
The ancient woods and wild places emanate my powers,
the birds of the air sing of my sanctity.
I am the harvest, offering up grain and fruits beneath
the sickle of time so that all may be nourished.
For without planting there can be no harvest;
without winter there can be no spring.
I am the thousand named Son of creation.
Know that by all names I am the same.
The spirit of the horned stag in the wild, the endless harvest.
See in the yearly cycle of festivals my birth, death and
rebirth and know that such is the destiny of all creation..
I am the spark of life, the radiant Sun, the giver of peace and rest.
I send my rays of blessings to warm the hearts and strengthen the minds of all.
–author unknown
The Witches Creed
Hear now the words of the witches,
The secrets we hid in the night,
When dark was our destiny’s pathway,
That now we bring forth into light.
Mysterious water and fire,
The earth and the wide-ranging air,
By hidden quintessence we know them,
And will and keep silent and dare.
The birth and rebirth of all nature,
The passing of winter and spring,
We share with the life universal,
Rejoice in the magical ring.
Four times in the year the Great Sabbat
Returns, and the witches are seen
At Lammas and Candlemas dancing,
On May Eve and old Hallowe’en.
When day-time and night-time are equal,
When sun is at greatest and least,
The four Lesser Sabbats are summoned,
And Witches gather in feast.
Thirteen silver moons in a year are,
Thirteen is the coven’s array.
Thirteen times at Esbat make merry,
For each golden year and a day.
The power that was passed down the age,
Each time between woman and man,
Each century unto the other,
Ere time and the ages began.
When drawn is the magical circle,
By sword or athame of power,
Its compass between two worlds lies,
In land of the shades for that hour.
This world has no right then to know it.
And world of beyond will tell naught.
The oldest of Gods are invoked there,
The Great Work of magic is wrought.
For the two are mystical pillars,
That stand at the gate of the shrine,
And two are the powers of nature,
The forms and the forces divine.
The dark and the light in succession,
The opposites each unto each,
Shown forth as a God and a Goddess:
Of this our ancestors teach.
By night he’s the wild winds rider,
The Horn’d One, the Lord of the Shades.
By day he’s the King of the Woodland,
The dweller in green forest glades.
She is youthful or old as she pleases,
She sails the torn clouds in her barque,
The bright silver lady of midnight,
The crone who weaves spells in the dark.
The master and mistress of magic,
That dwell in the deeps of the mind,
Immortal and ever-renewing,
With power to free or to bind.
So drink the good wine to the Old Gods,
And Dance and make love in their praise,
Till Elphame’s fair land shall receive us
In peace at the end of our days.
And Do What You Will be the challenge,
So be it Love that harms none,
For this is the only commandment.
By Magic of old, be it done!
From Doreen Valiente’s, “Witchcraft For Tomorrow”
Daughter of the Moon 