O Fragile Sun
O Fragile Sun, newborn god each day and each year,
who rises from a lotus on the horizon–
great Re-Harakhte, who will one day conquer–
You have not yet risen to the fullest heights,
you have not grown to your greatest strength.
You have nothing to fear in your fragility.
Behold! Ptah, the great one of Memphis,
the fashioner of the heavens, the perfected one,
the pillar of the cosmos from the first time,
reaches out his mighty hands to support you;
he has fashioned the wings to send you aloft,
he has placed his protection over you in the heavens.
At his sides stand his august and fierce wife,
Sekhmet of the hundred leonine strides,
she who is fierce as the Eye, as the cobra.
At his side stands his pure and ferocious son,
Nefertem of the fragrant and keen knives,
he who is glorious before the nose of Re-Harakhte.
They come forth marching, they come forth protecting,
they come forth in steadfastness, they come forth in grace,
they come forth so that fear flees before them like dust.
Praises and offerings of cold water and sweet oils to you,
Re-Harakhte, the sun upon the crest of dawn,
the great one above who shall see all beneath him.
Praises and offerings of thanks to the great triad,
to Nefertem the son and Sekhmet the unshakeable wife,
and to great Ptah, the immortal and ageless father of all!
Dua Re-Harakhte! Dua Nefertem! Dua Sekhmet! Dua Ptah!