HYMN To Finn
THERE be no grief here for the grieving ones:
We dip our cups in perpetual suns.
We do not waver in our cadenced speed,
But use both silent hands to take Life’s meed.
Our muscles are the steady butter churn
To make the sacrificial grease we burn,
And without pause our tireless feet ascend
Alacritous to Finn’s cloud-throned command.
What cannot be replaced we cannot need,
Grief is forgot and shamed beyond all heed.
O Finn come to our cause and bless its ends,
Your mind devised a course your will unbends.
We honor you with shining cups and tongue;
Drink and be judge of ancient glories sung.
You brought down Aillen with the venom-spear
Pressed to your face to vanquish mortal fear.
And when the Formael Boar had burst its pen
Thy grandson spread its jaws and left his men
The bowels of the beast to be unspooled.
In streams of blood they worked and never cooled.
Grant us, like feuding tribes you brought at last
Under one union at the mead hall massed
By clasping firm the hand of Goll thy foe,
In view of all, for all to see and know,
Grant us that friendship and long-lasting grace
To all our kin and our extended race.
We are thy sons and all our might is yours;
If you will bless them these will be thy wars.
Drink, noble Finn, the brightest drop we own,
And give us sons and allies firm as stone.
- O’Gravy, The Sun Riders
@solarcult
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