The vast expanses, the skies, peaks and plains,
the sun spreading warm daylight,
green fir trees covering the mountain
are all Your work, O divine Maker!
As a lowly mortal facing the sublime work,
as the sun goes down on the horizon,
my feeble voice raises from the abyss
towards You, towards You, God almighty.
I believe in You, O Master of Nature,
who sows life and fertility all around.
God Almighty who created man,
I trust in Your greatness, in Your kindness.
When the time is right, I throw by the handful
In the furrows dug by the plough
the clean wheat that will grow thick stalks:
ears are soon to come out of this seed.
And should hail or storm fall
upon my harvest like a plague,
I won't turn my back to heavens1,
but raise my head and beseech the Most High.
1. this poetic French uses a kind of ellipsis that I found hard to render. lit. "against the sky, far from bowing my head, my forehad turned [toward the sky], I bessech the Most High"