Let the stream of magic virtues Ceaseless flow to all my children, From this bath enrolled in sea-moss, That the guiltless may not suffer, That my tribe-folk may not perish, Till the Master gives permission, Until Ukko sends his minions, Sends diseases of his choosing, To destroy my trusting people. Let the hostess of Pohyola, Wicked witch that sent these troubles, Suffer from a gnawing conscience, Suffer for her evil doings. Should the Master of Wainola Lose his magic skill and weaken, Should he prove of little service To deliver from misfortune, To deliver from these evils, Then may Ukko be our healer, Be our strength and wise Physician. "Omnipresent God of mercy, Thou who livest in the heavens, Hasten hither, thou art needed, Hasten to thine ailing children, To observe their cruel tortures, To dispel these fell diseases, Drive destruction from our borders. Bring with thee thy mighty fire-sword, Bring to me thy blade of lightning, That I may subdue these evils, That these monsters I may banish, Send these pains, and ills, and tortures, To the empire of Tuoni, To the kingdom of the east-winds, To the islands of the wicked, To the caverns of the demons, To the rocks within the mountains, To the hidden beds of iron, That the rocks may fall and sicken, And the beds of iron perish. Rocks and metals do not murmur At the hands of the invader. "Torture-daughter of Tuoni, Sitting on the mount of anguish, At the junction of three rivers, Turning rocks of pain and torture, Turn away these fell diseases Through the virtues of the blue-stone; Lead them to the water-channels, Sink them in the deeps of ocean, Where the winds can never find them, Where the sunlight never enters. "Should this prayer prove unavailing, O, Health-virgin, maid of beauty Come and heal my dying people, Still their agonies and anguish, Give them consciousness and comfort, Give them healthful rest and slumber; These diseases take and banish, Take them in thy copper vessel, To thy eaves within the mountains, To the summit of the Pain-rock, Hurl them to thy boiling caldrons. In the mountain is a touch-stone, Lucky-stone of ancient story, With a hole bored through the centre, Through this pour these pains and tortures, Wretched feelings, thoughts of evil, Human ailments, days unlucky, Tribulations, and misfortunes, That they may not rise at evening, May not see the light of morning." Ending thus, old Wainamoinen, The eternal, wise enchanter, Rubbed his sufferers with balsams, Rubbed the tissues, red and painful, With the balm of healing flowers, Balsams made of herbs enchanted, Sprinkled all with healing vapors, Spake these words in supplication. "Ukko, thou who art in heaven, God of justice, and of mercy, Send us from the east a rain-cloud, Send a dark cloud from the North-west, From the north let fall a third one,