Let the wind blow hither a balm—fortune itself, joy itself—for our weary hearts.
He shall stretch forth the thread of our days and make them long.

O Wind, thou art to us a father, a brother, and a fellow on the road.
Breathe into us thy breath of life.

What store of deathless draught lies hidden in thy house, O Wind— grant us thereof, that we may live and not perish.