The rye-wolf is walking amongst the grass,
the blade of autumn rising.
Days of spring have come to pass,
the reapers greet the ripening.
Whence fields grow heavy in the ear,
and pale turn sheaves of ripened rye.
The seeds in springtimes furrows cast,
crown first harvest hour sky.

Hear we offer
summer’s first fruit,
upon the altar
of a meadow bright.
Hear we share
summer’s first grain,
within the temple
of ancient light.

Oh gather thy sheaves,
raise thy sickle to the grains,
hear the season call your name.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.
Tears of joy,
tears of sorrow,
hear the call, come home again.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.

The wheat-wolf is rushing over the field,
windy steps mark summer blades.
The dogs of harvest howl and wail,
at the last stroke of the summer’s flail.
Whence the sheaves have all been chopped to straw,
the reapers march and sing their song,
the grains in springtime’s furrows cast,
rise to crown the sky once more.

Hear we offer
summer’s first bread,
upon the altar
of fading day.
Hear we share
summer’s first wine,
within the temple
of golden rays.

Oh gather thy sheaves,
raise thy sickle to the grains,
hear the season call your name.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.
Tears of joy,
tears of sorrow,
hear the call, come home again.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.

The corn-wolf’s hour is growing short
soon barley meets the threshing floor.
The seed is separated from the chaff,
as autumn raises her blade once more.
The fields of grain will soon be razed,
and the wolf will have no place to hide
Our hope’s in springtimes furrows cast,
shall bid the rye-wolf at last goodbye.

Hear we offer
summer’s first harvest,
upon the altar
of golden earth.
Hear we share
a horn of plenty,
a grateful blessing
of joy and mirth.

Oh gather thy sheaves,
raise thy sickle to the grains,
hear the season call your name.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.
Tears of joy,
tears of sorrow,
hear the call, come home again.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.