O Maruts, when the sage pours the Tṛṣṭup as food for you,
Ye shine amid the mountain-clouds.
When, Bright Ones, fain to show your might ye have determined on your course,
The mountain-clouds have bent them down.
Loud roaring with the winds the Sons of Pṛśni have upraised themselves:
They have poured out the streaming food.
The Maruts spread the mist abroad and make mountains rock and reel,
When with the winds they go their way.
What time the rivers and the hills before your coming bowed them down,
So to sustain your mighty force.
We call on you for aid by night, on you for succour in the day,
On you while sacrifice proceeds.
These, verily, wondrous, red of hue, speed on their courses with a roar
Over the ridges of the sky.
Accept, ye Maruts, this my song, accept ye this mine hymn of praise,
Accept, Bhukṣans, this my call.
The dappled Cows have poured three lakes, meath for the Thunder-wielding God,
From the great cask, the watery cloud.
O Maruts, quickly come to us when, longing for felicity,
We call you hither from the sky.
For, Rudras and Bhukṣans, ye, Most Bountiful, are in the house,
Wise when the gladdening draught is drunk.
O Maruts, send us down from heaven riches distilling rapturous joy,
With plenteous food, sustaining all.
When, Bright Ones, hither from the hills ye have resolved to take your way,
Ye revel in the drops effused.
Man should solicit with his lauds happiness which belongs to them,
So great a band invincible.
They who like fiery sparks with showers of rain blow through the heaven and earth,
Milking the spring that never fails.
With chariots and tumultuous roar, with tempests and with hymns of praise
The Sons of Pṛśni hurry forth.
For wealth, we think of that whereby ye aided Yadu, Turvaśa,
And KanVa who obtained the spoil.
May these our viands Bounteous Ones I that flow in streams like holy oil,
With Kaṇva's hymns, increase your might.
Where, Bounteous Lords for whom the grass is trimmed, are ye rejoicing now?
What Brahman is adoring you?
Is it not there where ye of old, supplied