Though you dwell far away, you perceive all that is here—you see the gatherings, the assemblies of beings. And from this world, people look up to behold the radiant, wise Sūrya, shining in the heavens. As a god, you honor the other gods and move within the cosmic ocean. Everywhere, Agni is kindled in the same way, and the wise on the far side of the world also know him. The cow, bearing her calf, stood with one foot beyond and one foot below. That tawny one departed, taking a portion with her; where she brings forth her calf, it is not among this herd. She transformed: at times one-footed, then two-footed, four-footed, eight-footed, even nine-footed. She is the thousand-syllabled line of the world, and from her, the oceans pour forth. You, immortal one, have ascended to heaven; my words, too, have gone forth. To you, O radiant one, are brought sacrifices purified by Brahman, and swift coursers carry you along your path. The immortal alone knows your stride in the heavens, your seat in the highest sky. Sūrya sees the sky, Sūrya sees the earth, Sūrya sees the waters. Sūrya, the single eye of existence, has mounted both sky and earth. The broad enclosures were set, and the altar ground prepared. There, Agni placed the snow and the frost, and Rohita. Having placed the snow and frost, and having made the posts like mountains, Agni was kindled with ghee and honey by those who know the light of Rohita. By the Brahman of Rohita, Agni is kindled—the knower of the light. From him came the frost, from him the snow, and from him the sacrifice was born. Agni and Brahman have grown together, nourished and offered by Brahman; Agni, kindled by Brahman, is worshipped in the sacrifice of Rohita, who knows the sun. One Agni is concentrated in truth, another is kindled in the waters; Agni, kindled by Brahman, is worshipped in the sacrifice of Rohita, the knower of the sun. He whom the wind surrounds, whom Indra and Brahmanaspati support—Agni, kindled by Brahman, is honored in the sacrifice of Rohita, the knower of the sun. When the altar was prepared as the earth and the sky made the southern direction, Rohita fashioned that Agni—the devourer, the all-pervading self—with the ghee of the year. Agni the devourer became the altar and the earth, with the ghee of the year as rain; there, with his hymns, Agni established the mountains on high. Having set the mountains aloft with hymns, Rohita spoke to the earth: “In you, may all that exists and all that is yet to be, be born.” That sacrifice became the first; from it, both what has been and what will be came forth. From it, indeed, all this arose—whatever here shines, all upheld by Rohita the seer. Whoever treads upon the earth with his foot, or urinates facing the sun, I cut off his root, not his shadow; I do not make another. Whoever passes between me and my shadow, or between me and Agni, I cut off his root, not his shadow; I do not make another. Who today, O god Sūrya, comes between you and me—from him we wipe away evil dreams, defilement, and misfortunes. May we not stray from the path, nor from the sacrifice, O Indra, O Soma; may hostile ones not linger among us. He who prepares the sacrifice, the thread stretched among the gods—may we consume that oblation. The bright banners of the sun rise shining in the sky—he, the all-seeing, the great-vowed, the gracious one. We praise the sun, guardian of the world, who reveals the directions, shining with his rays, swift-winged, speeding through the vastness, illuminating all directions. As you travel east and west by your own law, drawing the diverse days with your might, O Āditya, your greatness is vast, your fame immense, for you alone are born encompassing all. Seven green ones, many in number, carry the wise, swift, and shining one; Atri led the flowing one to the sky, and all behold you circling your course. May none harm you as you traverse your path; with well-being, proceed on your auspicious way. O Sun, measuring the sky and divine earth, day and night, as you journey. Well-being to you, O Sun, as you travel in your chariot, swiftly circling; your best green steeds draw you, whether a hundred horses or seven or many. O Sun, mount your radiant chariot, pleasant and well-yoked; set the swift steed ablaze—your bright green horses draw you, whether they are a hundred, or seven, or many. Seven green horses the Sun has yoked to his chariot for the journey, shining with golden form, mighty and vast; the bright one was released beyond the darkness—shaking it off, the god ascended the sky. With a great banner, the god approached, driving away the darkness; he beheld the light. The divine bird of the sky, the hero, the son of Aditi, revealed all the worlds. Rising, you stretch out your rays and sustain all forms; by your will, you shine over both oceans, encompassing all worlds in your splendor. By their magic, two children move back and forth, playing as they travel around the ocean; one observes all the worlds, the other is drawn by golden horses. In the sky, three times you are established, O Sun, to create the month; thus you move, well-supported and shining, proclaiming all beings. You endure both, like a calf with its mothers; truly, even before this, the gods knew this sacred knowledge. What is established after the ocean, that the Sun seeks to know; his path is vast, spread wide, encompassing both the former and the latter. He attains that by his efforts, from which there is no turning back; by that, he does not withhold the food of immortality from the gods. Upwards, the rays carry Jātavedas, the god, the Sun, for all to see. As birds fly away, so do those rays depart with the nights, for the all-seeing Sun. His rays are seen, his beams among the people, shining like fires—radiant and resplendent.