Hál wes thu, folde,
fira modor;
beo thu growende,
on Codes fæthme;
fodre gefylled,
firum to nytte.

Soil I salute thee,
mother of souls;
be thou growing
by God's grace;
filled with fodder
folks to comfort.

Then a loaf is to be kneaded and baked, and put into the first furrow,
with yet another anthem:--

Ful æcer fodres
fira cinne,
beorht-blowende
thu gebletsod weorth.

A full crop of fodder
may the folks see;
brightly blossoming,
blessed mote thou be.

Then follows a chaplet of three repetitions, twice repeated, and this
long day's orison is done.