The brilliance of the gods has risen, the eyes of Mitra, Varuṇa, and Agni. The soul of everything that moves and doesn’t move, the Sun fills the air, earth, and sky.
Like a young man follows a maiden, so does the Sun follow Dawn, the radiant goddess: Where pious people extend their generations, under the auspicious one for good fortune.
Auspicious are the Sun’s bay-colored horses, bright with changing colors, fit for our shouts of victory. They carry our prayers, and the sky’s edge they mount, and in a moment they race across earth and sky.
This is the divinity, this might of Sūrya: He has withdrawn what spread over unfinished work. When he loosens his horses from their posts, all night spreads out its cloak over them.
In the sky’s embrace, the Sun assumes this form that Varuṇa and Mitra may see it. His bay steeds maintain his eternal power, sometimes bright and sometimes dark.
This day, O gods, while Sūrya rises, save us from trouble and dishonor. May Varuṇa, Mitra, Aditi, and Sindhu, Earth and Sky, grant this prayer of ours.