Against the sky the Ram and the Bull are now pulling together in one team and the last chaff is winnowed from God’s wheat. Baal and his Priests are banned definitively from the holy gathering, forever.

Therefore Sion calls her El on His Name now and she calls him so insolently, now her Husband, yes, she calls, You are my Life, You Alone are my Hope, my Faith, my Love-flame.

On the Holy Wedding feast pure water is already waiting in a silver and golden can and it changes into Wine of Wonder, with which the invited will relax blissfully.

The Holy meal has already been waiting more than two thousand years, yes, sacrificed as the Lamb. So jubilate oh Sion, over your wedding feast, planned so far ahead.

Look, twelve stars are banded over your set-apart head as Priest and Royal crown, and Satan the snake will soon lie crushed under your heel, yes your foot, completely paralyzed.

In the hijacked land of the quasi San, so many white flowers lie withered and dead, yes at a dry spiritual-fountain (Bloemfontein) in the land of Ham.

So, dim the last shine of the false flame, yes of every liberal Afrikaner-woman or man, because the false prophet is openly working with his interbreed-plan against God’s small, but chosen team.

Against the firmament the Bull and the Ram now pull together powerfully, in one team and the weed and the chaff is winnowed from Elohim’s wheat, yes from his chosen, holy Boervolk.