YOUR voice has called to you for prosperity. I sing to Heaven and Earth and perform the Yajna.
They bathe their horses and ride swiftly through the sky; their radiance spreads across the ocean of clouds.
Earth trembles and sways in fear at their advance, like a ship that creaks when it takes on water. Their paths are marked, visible from afar; the Heroes march in a mighty array.
Like the bull’s majestic horn for splendid strength, like the Sun’s eye setting in the sky’s expanse,
You are beautiful to behold, like bridegrooms, O Men.
Who among you, O Maruts, can grasp the profound wisdom of your might? Who can reach your heroic deeds?
You shake the earth like a beam of light when you grant your blessings. Like fiery horses, you are beautiful to see.
The Heroes grow strong, like grown men, with floods of rain making the Sun’s eye fade. You, without an eldest or youngest, have grown mighty in might.
These Sons of Pṛśni, born of noble lineage: come hither to us, O bridegrooms of the sky.
Like birds of the air, you fly in long lines from heaven’s high ridges to the edges of the sky. The horses that carry you, known by both gods and mortals, cause the mountains’ waters to flow.
May Dyaus, the Infinite, roar for our feast. May Dawns toil for us, shining with moisture.
Lauded by you, these Maruts, Sons of Rudra, O Rishi, have brought down the heavenly treasure.