WIN, to assist you, Rudra, Lord of worship, Priest of both worlds, effectual Sacrificer, Agni, invested with your golden hues, before the thunder strike and make you senseless.
This shrine we have prepared for your arrival, as a devoted wife prepares herself for her husband. Performer of good deeds, sit down before us, invested while these flames incline to meet you.
A hymn, O Priest, to him who listens, the gentle, to him who looks on men, exceedingly gracious, Sing a song of praise to the Immortal God, whom the stone, the presser of the sweet juice, worships.
As a true keeper of the Law, O Agni, to this solemn rite you attentive, when will your festival songs be sung? When will your friendship be shown within our dwelling?
Why this complaint to Varuṇa, O Agni? And to Heaven? For what is our transgression? How will you speak to Earth and bountiful Mitra? What will you say to Aryaman and Bhaga?
What to the lesser altars when you blaze, to the mighty Wind who comes to bless us, True, circumspect? What to Earth, O Agni, what to man-destroying Rudra?
How to great Pūṣan who promotes our welfare, to honoured Rudra what, who gives oblations? What sin of ours to the far-striding Viṣṇu, what, Agni, wilt you tell the Lofty Arrow?
What will you tell the truthful band of Maruts, how will the great Sun answer when questioned? Before the Free, before the Swift, protect us: fulfill heaven’s work, all-knowing Jātavedas.
I crave the cow’s true gift arranged by Order: though raw, she has the sweet ripe juice, O Agni. Though she is black in hue with milk she teems, nutritious, brightly shining, all-sustaining.
Agni the Bull, the manly, has been oiled on his back by Eternal Law, by vital power going unswerving. He who gives life power goes on unswerving. Pṛśni the Bull has milked the pure white udder.
By Law the Aṅgirases split the rock apart, and sang their hymns together with the cattle. Bringing great bliss,