Lammas Chant or Song

(Lyrics by Arnon Clark / Music The Mingaulay Boat Song -trad.)

(written at Kaleidoscope Fest, Lammas 98)

Chorus - Now is Lammas, Summer Harvest

Bind the sheaves tight and carry the grain home.

Feed the children, all the family

Food and plenty throughout the fall.

Call it Lammas, Lugh or Lughnasadh, but gather closely the first fruits of harvest.

We've no fear now, of want or famine, by the love of the God and Goddess.

As the long days all grow shorter, and the Horned One, He wanes and weakens,

We have plenty, and good eating, through His dying to live again.


As the sun sets, so the moon will rise. Praise the Lady and light the fire.

From Her body, and His sacrifice, comes our harvest and our lives.

Join your voices, spirits and your hearts. Bring your love now, and join together.

For the harvest it is gathered, and the time for the dance is come.

-Chorus (repeat)

(alternately, the chorus may be inserted between each stanza, rather than every second one)

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Very nice. I plan to use chant as part of my ritual.
Rev. Raven Spirit 2002

Waning days
Waving grain
The summer months begin to fade
The horned one walks to the shades
Day of first fruits
You reap what you sow
Is your grain all bland
Or with flavor, you know
Nines months we have nurtured
And cared for our goals
Now we are birthing
Like mother and foal
The seeds we have planted
Watered and helped grow
We now begin harvesting
The seeds we have sown
But the growing is not over
More cycles to pass
So weed your fields
Err it be your ass
Tis a time of great merriment
Games to be played
To honored the ancients
And the wisdom they say
Hail to Fair Tailltiu
For whom the games are named
That tests the skill and knowledge of both me and you

Fields of listening, whispering corn
Ripen in the heavy air
Lugh the Golden dancing forth,
Leaves and sheaves in his wild hair.

In perfect circles bow the stalks,
Mark the path where great Lugh walks,
Mark days and seasons, round they go,
As above, so below.

Grainne and Diarmuid meet
Clasping in the heady air,
Loving in the dolmen’s shadow,
Lost deep in her corn-sweet hair.

And his Moon follows her Sun,
Marks the way where she has gone,
Marks how love and life must be,
Each follows his own destiny.

Misty sun and steaming rain
Upon the pregnant, swelling earth.
Drying trees and tiring fields
Await the mystery of birth.

Now, in her ecstatic sleep
Mark she opens, dark and deep.
Mark, the Neolithic tomb
Pulses, like a throbbing womb.

Poppies scarlet on the gold,
Slashing, gory, gaudy red.
Colour brash and petals frail,
Bright life cut down, blown away, dead.

Now he lies down on the fields.
Mark, his life he freely yields
Mark the blood upon the corn
All that dies shall be reborn
All that dies shall be reborn


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