I call out to Mullo of the healing hand,
O gracious one whose art it is to clear the eyes.
Your temples stood of old in great Gaul, in the land
of the north-men, in the land of standing stones
and icy waters. Mullo of the river-fork,
god of the mound and the sanctuary,
friend of the injured and the invalid,
the suffering and the sick, your shrines once held
hope for the ailing, who offered their prayers to you
with love and faith; your might is yet a boon to men,
your kindness a balm to body and spirit.
Mullo who brings light into darkness, I honor you.