Prayer to the Corn King
by Ari
We sing to John Barleycorn, golden and tall,
We sing for the beer that we pass in the hall,
We sing for the bread that we break with our folk,
We sing for the bull beneath knife’s silver yoke.
We sing for the harvest before it arrives,
We sing for the blood that is spilled for our lives.
We mourn for the grain that falls proud to the ground,
We mourn for each stalk of sun that we cut down,
We mourn for each root we tear up from the soil,
We mourn for each backbreaking hour of toil,
We mourn for each wish that will never come true,
And we mourn, truth be told, because some of them do.
Hail to Ingvi who dies that we might live,
Hail to each life that the great Nerthus gives.
Hail Ingvi the Corn King, golden and tall,
Hail to your rise and your glorious fall.