Thee, the Word, having flowed into the spirit of the space, lika a man,
a tiller of the ground, thee, the tiller of the heaven beyond time,
Thee, Lord, sow the Life in the shape of stars,
That reap the fruit of wisdom eternally,
And throw their light upon our gloomybrows;
And this infinite garden of heaven
Is thy dominion, our Lord, the Gardener,
Whence from the future thee descend through the gate of the space,
Thee stand in teh present and face thyself in the past.
And rebound the mand from around.
Like the Grail, thee hold the whole universe,
And fill it up with the wine of the wedding,
The wine, that was brewed in your veins,
Has filled the cup.
Oh, Lord of the Life! We pray for the Eucharist for us, the immatures,
That we may water with tears of regret
The barren earth, where there dwells cile, unmentionable.
Allow us, our Lord, to thrash! the thrashing floor of the world ourselves,
that we may plant a vine-tree in your turn,
In order to perfect your selves, so that after the Harvest,
I may put forth my heart - the wine-press -
For you, to tread the vine-grapes with your feet,
And it, instead of blood, may flow around, into a live current.
Translation: Lela Dumbadze