Kronos

The cold winds blow from the bitter north,
Emissaries of their frigid lord.
He comes from the final sphere, devoid of mirth,
Carrying a sickle for a sword.

Once before a saturnine messenger came;
The Baptist preached repentance from sin.
The people could not bear the blame
And expelled him from the land of men.

Now in gloom his ruling Power
Descends upon our rebellious ball,
Ensuring that in this late, mournful hour,
we eat the fruit of our willful fall.

The reaper, grim-faced and grey-eyed god
Of unyielding time and dire judgment –
What madness possessed us? Now awed,
We once scorned his promised advent.

But Tellus is blanketed as with lead
And pressed by the grave weight of despair.
Saturn’s scythe swings with looming dread
To harvest the sons of the power of the air.

O Unfortunate Aspect, reminder of justice,
Man cannot bear the burden for long.
The snare of folly has surely crushed us,
Left us with little, left us alone.

Come, Venus, with your warm embrace!
Come, Mars, with your gleaming spear!
Join your brother, and, by God’s grace,
Temper his work in our earthly sphere.

O Mercury, fleet-footed messenger divine,
Bring us glad tidings of returning light.
The coming feast prepared, of bread, of wine,
In Jove’s kingly halls lit bright.

Let Jove now reign, king of kings,
Yet a shadow of the Highest.
These starry minstrels, the Heavens, sing
The glories of our Christ, the brightest.

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