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Stand fast by the gate of day and night,
The sun so low and red;
Go out in the woods where the king-stag calls
And tosses his antlered head.
Gather around the gray-bearded Oak,
The quickbeam broad and tall,
Whose besomy brow sweeps the heavens clean
Whose branches shelter us all.
Lay down your tools on the altar stone,
Under the purple sky
And mark out a ring with the Golden Rod,
The Mistletoe from on high.
Call in the quarters, the four winds fleet;
Call to the world below.
Call to the Lady and Lord above
Who bring the sun and the snow.
Dance to the tune of the turning leaves,
Deep in the leafy hall;
Dance to the winter and dance to the spring,
Dance to the summer and fall.
Honor the King-Oak who stands so strong;
Make magic if you will
Under the crown of the mightiest tree
On top of the highest hill.
Release the Circle and all who came;
Bid each one merry part,
But as you walk home through the thinning woods,
Keep the King-Oak in your heart.
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