Hear my prayers, O God who swells
and causes increase, heaven’s dancer Máni,
Mundilfari’s son and brother of gold-haired
Sunna, sister of Sinthgunt, if it pleases you
to be called so. I know your names are many,
for you constantly wander the realms collecting them
with Hati Hróðvitnisson hot upon your heels.
The half-Greeks who huddle around the Euxine
call you Mēn Pharnakou, consort of the Anāhitā
who is lovely as the lotus upon the waters,
while among the Latvians of the Baltic coast
you are known as Mēness the ever-young,
and the proud children of the Iron Wolf
hail you as Mėnuo and Dievaitis, nor is that all.
For among the Æsir you are Fiery One,
and in Hel’s hall the Whirling Wheel,
Speedy the Jötnar name you,
Shiny the Dvergar proclaim you,
and to the gleam-loving Alfarr
you are Tally of Years. Among all these
far-flung peoples your fame is spread,
and all rejoice when you arrive among them
for you are charming, inspiring and full of daring,
wild, beautiful and utterly mysterious.
You bring illumination where it is most needed,
and show the way out of confusion, fear
and stagnation, O constantly changing One;
you make things seem magical, otherworldly
and full of limitless possibility
while the lost, the broken, the outcast,
the lunatic, the young and the frail
all are dear to your gentle heart,
and ever fiercely defended by you,
wielder of the sickle and the scimitar.
Even wolfish Hati you are leading on a merry chase
to distract him and ensure that he will cause harm
to none other whilst his mind is fettered so
with madness and with grievous violence,
born of cyclical generational trauma.
So hail to you Máni, who takes time
to understand even his enemies,
bone-pale God flowing over with grace
and good nature; may you bless our home
by showing us your bruin-handsome face
and cause the fortunes of your pious people
always to waxeth fair.