Dark Lord of Annwfn,
Keeper of the Country of the Black Sun,
King of the Land Under the Earth,
Grey-Cloaked, Silver-Tongued,
Rider of the Pale Horse,
We call your name into the echoing silence.
(All whisper: "Arawn, Arawn, Arawn!")
You are the tester of those who believe
They are the image of honor;
Your silver tongue guides us deeper
Into the swamps of our illusions
Until we find ourselves hunted down
By the fierce howling of your hounds,
And we learn truth, hard truth, running
Like a rabbit through the thorns.
(All whisper: "Arawn, Arawn, Arawn!"
Your hounds were pilfered
And yet your judgment dogs our guilty heels.
Your deer were stolen
And yet your truth follows us fleet of foot.
Your lapwing bird cries in our ears
A song of accusation that we cannot shut out.
Your swine were stolen
And yet it is we who must learn to sacrifice.
(All whisper: "Arawn, Arawn, Arawn!")
Guardian of the Ancestral Tree,
Master Hunter who moves in shadow,
Whose doors are the wild springs of the wood,
May we never mistake your tests
For mere random cruelty,
Lest we lose the wisdom to be found
In the dark depths of your implacable eyes.
(All whisper: "Arawn, Arawn, Arawn!")
Let us drink from your bitter cauldron,
Let us bow in respect and reverence
Before you and your dread lady
Whose cold hand we dare not touch;
Let us learn to keep our promises,
To resist the temptation to think
That we know better than the Gods,
And to prove our honor in your eyes.
Bless us, Lord of Annwfn,
And may we all survive the chase
Wiser than we were when we began.

(All howl like hounds, then when silence falls, all shall kneel before the altar and think of what temptation pulls them to betray honor and vows. Each shall whisper it to Arawn, and then whisper their promise anew, to be heard and held by Him.)

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From Pagan book of hours