We praise You, Hel, Helja, Leikin, jewel as black as a starless sky, Ancient as the darkness before the living light of the Sun.
We praise You, Queen of Helheim, terrible in Your implacability, fearsome in Your inescapable power.
We praise You, Mother of the Dead, protector of Your many charges, defender of the endless legions of the Dead, nourishing our Ancestors at Your table.
We praise You, Rotting Goddess; beautiful, Divine, and decaying; living the reality of physical death.
We praise You, Lady Who accepts those who have been rejected; refuge for those society prefers not to look at.
We praise You, She Who Kills, Lady of Endings; She Who sends our souls out to be born again, Lady of Beginnings.
We praise You, constant Goddess, dependable Mother, unchanging inevitability; a comfort through the harsh storms of life.
We praise You, comfort of the dying, Who reaches out Her living hand to draw worn-down souls to peace and rest.
We praise You, far-seeing Goddess, She Who sees beyond our small human scale, She Who sees far down the threads of Wyrd, She Who sees wisdom.
Oh, pool of pitch-black light.
Oh, burning ice.
Oh, keeper of orchards.
Oh, keeper of my blood.
Oh, daughter of heat and movement, chaos and change.
Oh, daughter of fierceness and survival.
Oh, sister of destruction and liminality.
Oh, Baldur’s protector.
Oh, compassionate one.
Ever and always do Your people praise You.