Brimming with exuberant light, the Sun, Father,
Blessed the crop and the timid vine, vineyard’s
Child, in whom the unborn, crimson nectar
Murmurs, sweet as love, bitter as parting.
And lo, the vine stretches, strongly; with straight
Back and vigorous love, it praises the light, the
All-holy, ever-loving overflow of divine which,
Descending on the wings of dusk, parts the clouds
And reveals the amber-crimson kingdom of the
Setting Sun! And madness, and sickness, and
Disease of torpor, and the cold (strikingly cruel),
Are defeated, purged into the oblivion of dark.
In jubilation, thus, we raise the brimming cup,
For this nectar’s sweetness, or bitterness, the
Same, is the essence of Sun, the Father’s blood;
Life itself overflows from our goblet, light divine!