You, O Father, the Sky, are the Lord of the mountains and valleys.

You are my mother and my father.

You have given rain to make the corn grow, and sunshine to ripen it.

Now in your strength the harvest begins.

I offer you the first morsels of the harvest.

I know it is almost nothing compared with the abundance of the crop.

But since you have provided the harvest,

my gift to you is only a sign of what you have given to me.

You alone know how many suns and moons it will take to finish reaping.

You alone know how heavy the crop will be.

If I work too hard and too fast I forget about you, who gave me the harvest.

So I will work steadily and slowly,

remembering that each ear of corn is a priceless gift from you.