V. The Hymn of the Day during the Afterfeast of Malfaloth

Three verses.

Now the deadly winds of Winter

On the Northern moors are dying.

Now the rivers, cold and ancient,

Of the Northern moorlands barren,

Swell with waters, flooding ice-streams.

Gates of Winter, gladly opened,

Pour fourth all the airs of Springtime;

Summer’s treasures swiftly follow.

So Onmanda, World’s First Mother,

She commanded when, awaking,

On the day when greedy Margloth

Lusting for the Hill of Apples—

Blessed Hill of Apples fragrant—

Tried to seize that holy treasure.

Thus Onmanda, World’s First Mother,

Loosed the frozen Gates of Winter.

Fair Onmanda, now awaken

All the hearts who cry for justice!

Let the Hunter Clad in Silver

Come again to claim his scepter!

Let him challenge the Usurper,

Vishnarr, Thief and Great Deceiver!

Hear the prayer of your poor children

Lost and wandering Under Starlight.