Graciously has God bestowed her. 
Sound her praises to thy father,
Praise her virtues to thy mother,
Let thy heart rejoice in secret,
That thou hast the Bride of Beauty,
Lovely Maiden of the Rainbow! 
“Brilliant near thee stands the maiden,
At thy shoulder thy companion,
Happy under thy protection,
Beautiful as golden moonlight,
Beautiful upon thy bosom,
Strong to do thy kindly bidding,
Labor with thee as thou wishest,
Rake the hay upon thy meadows,
Keep thy home in full perfection,
Spin for thee the finest linen,
Weave for thee the richest fabrics,
Make for thee the softest raiment,
Make thy weaver’s loom as merry
As the cuckoo of the forest;
Make the shuttle glide in beauty
Like the ermine of the woodlands;
Make the spindle twirl as deftly
As the squirrel spins the acorn;
Village-maidens will not slumber
While thy young bride’s loom is humming,
While she plies the graceful shuttle. 
“Bridegroom of the Bride of Beauty,
Noblest of the Northland heroes,
Forge thyself a scythe for mowing,
Furnish it with oaken handle,
Carve it in thine ancient smithy,
Hammer it upon thine anvil,
Have it ready for the summer,
For the merry days of sunshine;
Take thy bride then to the lowlands,
Mow the grass upon thy meadows,
Rake the hay when it is ready,
Make the reeds and grasses rustle,
Toss the fragrant heads of clover,
Make thy hay in Kalevala
When the silver sun is shining. 
“When the time has come for weaving,
To the loom attract the weaver,
Give to her the spools and shuttles,
Let the willing loom be worthy,
Beautiful the frame and settle;
Give to her what may be needed,
That the weaver’s song may echo,
That the lathe may swing and rattle,
Ma y be heard within the village,
That the aged may remark it,
And the village-maidens question: 
’Who is she that now is weaving,
What new power now plies the shuttle?’
“Make this answer to the question: 
’It is my beloved weaving,
My young bride that plies the shuttle.’ 
“Shall the weaver’s weft be loosened,
Shall the young bride’s loom be tightened? 
Do not let the weft be loosened,
Nor the weaver’s loom be tightened;
Such the weaving of the daughters
Of the Moon beyond the cloudlets;
Such the spinning of the maidens
Of the Sun in high Jumala,
Of the daughters of the Great Bear,
Of the daughters of the Evening. 
Bridegroom, thou beloved hero,
Brave descendant of thy fathers,
When thou goest on a journey,
When thou drivest on the highway,
Driving with the Rainbow-daughter,
Fairest bride of Sariola,
Do not lead her as a titmouse,
As a cuckoo of the forest,
Into unfrequented places,
Into copses of the borders,
Into brier-fields and brambles,
Into unproductive marshes;
Let her wander not, nor stumble
On opposing rocks and rubbish.