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Behold the Maiden Goddess approaching,
The Sun-King so young on her breast.
O Gentle Goddess, and O Baby Sun!
Bless ye this house and all herein.
Bless ye the food, bless ye the board,
Bless ye the corn, the flock and the store.
What time to us the quarter was scarce,
It is thou thyself, Goddess, who wast mother to us.
Thou art fairer, Lady, than the waxing moon,
Rising over the mountains.
Thou art fairer, Lord, than the summer sun,
Under his fullness of joy.
Since the bard must not tarry,
Place ye pine boughs about the Circle.
Servant am I of the Great Mother, on the threshold,
For the sake of the infant Sun, arise thyself and open to him.
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