Do you hear the call, o my brothers? Do you hear, o my brothers and sisters who fell that we for whom you marched away call you back? Einherjarblot, Remembrance Day. At the 11th hour of the 11th day, we call to you who answered once, and did not return.
Victory Father, Feeder of Ravens, great Odin whose hall rings with the stamp and clash of our honoured dead, release them to us. Battle-glad, High One, we ask you let them return to us for but an hour, that they may answer the roll when their brothers call, that they may see strong sons and proud daughters speak their name, and give them praise, that they may take their place beside the brothers and sisters who marched with them, and lived to return.
Van-Dis, golden goddess, mighty Freya whose hall rings with the laughter and boasts of our honoured dead, release them to us. Lady of love, fire of passion, guide their steps to the torch that burns, that from their failing hands we took and still hold high. Let them hear the praise sung of them, taste the offerings poured to them, see the strong and frithful land their dear blood bought.
Black Ran, she of the deeps and endless hungry dark, eternal and hungry sea grown rich and dark with the blood of our fallen, release them to us. Faithful Ran who loves best those she clutches to her breast, those who fell broken by their service into your waiting arms, we ask for but an hour. Let those who fell in service now return when their comrades call. Back to the light above the waves, and hearths forgotten, to hear their name ring again, to receive the glory that is their right, and our only offering, before returning to the sea in which they fell.
Noble Disir, guide the sons and daughters from halls shining gold, or silent dark. Return them to us for but an hour. The torch we took from failing hands is burning, and held yet high. We yet keep faith with those who fell, and bid you aid them return to us.
Hear our call, my brothers. We call the roll of honour; the sons and daughters who answered their nation once, and are silent now. Return to us.
You did not grow not old, as we that are left grow old
Age does not weary you, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember you.
Mingle now with your comrades again
See the hearth fire burn, and laughter sound
Know that we labour to preserve what you defend
When to honoured grave you do return
We will remember