Pour we libations to the father, Jove,
And bid him watch propitious o'er our way;
Pile on the household altar fragrant wreaths,
And to th' auspicious Lares bid farewell,
Beneath whose guardianship we have abode.
Blest be the threshold over which we pa**,
Turning again, with hands devout uplifted;
Blest be the roof-tree, and the hearth it shelters;
Blest be the going forth and coming home
Of those who dwell here; blest their rising up,
And blest their lying down to holy slumber;
Blest be the married love, sacred and chaste;
Blest be the children's head, the mother's heart,
The father's hope. Reach down the wanderer's staff,—
Tie on the sandals on the traveller's feet :
The wan-eyed morn weeps in the watery east;
Gird up the loins, and let us now depart.