Rain is giving by your will, and poured with your blessing, golden King, from the meadows of Yggdrasil, where among the hidden people, you were enthroned.
Burn at the deepest reaches of the earth, along the webs of roots, under every flower. Draw life from decay, blooms from the ice, music from the hours of dawn, unspoken and true.
Trees and rushing rivers, in their might, flow with your pulse like blood. Glorious peace, by your grace, is bestowed upon grief-stricken souls, the gift of harmony beyond conflicts and strife.
Daily trials cloud the mind like fog, in the endless cycle of resting and waking, the tidal force of doubt where your hand reaches, to grasp mine and leave your mark.
Hope, the world’s undying truth, goes to dust with each sunset, and with each sunrise, is reborn again. Hear me, King of Kings, fragrant and luminous, ruling from the high seat of golden Álfheimr:
I thank you for your countless gifts, the welcome rain and sun, the moments of perfect bliss, which you give freely. I praise you for your loving presence, your grounding power, your steady guidance.
Hail to the Son on of the sea, the Brother of Freyja, the God of the World. Hail to the boar-rider, the joy-giver, the bestower of wealth-gifts and peace.