With deep reverence, the worshipper bows and prays, “Homage to you—look upon me, see me, do not turn your gaze away.” He offers worship with food and drink, with the hope of fame, with brilliance and the radiance that belongs to the Brahmin. He brings water, strength, and might as his offerings, honoring the divine with all that sustains and empowers life. Again, he pours forth water, invoking the freshness of the red dawn and the shimmering silvery realm, adding might to his worship. He extols the earth as wide, broad, and well-founded, and praises the world for its expansiveness, excellence, and shining glory. He prays that the spirit he worships may be good, generous, united, and ever striving. Once more, in humility, he bows: “Homage to you—look upon me, see me, do not look away.” He repeats his offerings of food and drink, fame and brilliance, and the sacred Brahmin radiance. He recalls the order of the cosmos: the earth is upheld by truth, the sky is held aloft by the sun; the Ādityas stand firm through cosmic order, and Soma is established in the heavens. Through Soma, the Ādityas are made strong; by Soma, the great earth is mighty. Soma shines among the stars, placed in their midst. The one who drinks the pressed herbs believes he has tasted Soma, yet the true Soma, known only to the Brahmins, is beyond mortal reach. When Soma is drunk, it is filled again; Vāyu is Soma’s guardian, and the months are its very form. Soma is carefully protected, wrapped in coverings and guarded by the sacred Barhish; it listens to the stones, but no mortal partakes of it. The bedding was splendid, the eyes were anointed; heaven and earth themselves became the covering when Sūryā chose her husband. Raibhya attended her, Nārāśaṃsī spread her seat; Sūryā’s auspicious garment, adorned with song, went forth. Hymns formed the steps, the Kurīra was the canopy, and the metres served as veils. For Sūryā, the Aśvins were the best men, and Agni led the way. Soma became the wooer, the Aśvins the best men, as Sūryā, praised for her husband, was given by Savitṛ with his mind. Her mind was the axle, heaven the covering; two bright oxen drew her chariot as she journeyed to her husband. Two cows, invoked with Ṛc and Sāman, became her chants; her ears became wheels, and the heavenly path moved and stood still. Her shining wheel rolled on, firmly fixed on its axle; Sūryā ascended her mind-made chariot, striving toward her husband. Savitṛ sent forth the draught animal for Sūryā; in the stars of Maghā, the cows are slaughtered, and in Phalgunī, they are yoked. When the two Aśvins, inquiring, arrived for Sūryā with their three-wheeled chariot, they wondered where the single wheel was and where the yoke was placed. When the lords of beauty came to choose Sūryā, all the gods knew their purpose; Pūṣan, the son, chose the father. Two of Sūryā’s wheels, the Brāhmaṇas know according to the seasons, but the hidden wheel is known only to the wise. They worship Aryaman, the good friend and knower of marriage, and, as a cucumber is released from its stalk, so is the bride released from her parental home—not from her new one. She is released, well-bound, and never lost, just as Indra is blessed with good sons. She is freed from the noose of Varuṇa, with which Savitṛ, the gracious, had bound her; now, in the womb of truth and the world of good deeds, may she find happiness, strength, and support. May Bhaga lead her by the hand, the Aśvins convey her in their chariot; she enters her new home as its mistress, speaking wisely in the assembly. Here, may her beloved children thrive; in this house, she tends the sacred fire. She unites with her husband, and, growing old together, speaks wisely among her people. She is urged to remain, to not part, to enjoy the full span of life—playing with sons and grandsons, rejoicing, and blessed with well-being. Through the power of the past and future, the two children, playing, reach the ocean; one surveys all beings, the other arranges the seasons, and she is born anew. Ever new, as she is born, she becomes the sign of days, arriving first with the dawn. She distributes the shares to the gods and, radiant, attains long life with brilliance. She is asked to remove the root of discord and to divide wealth among the priests; becoming one with the path of rites, the wife enters her husband. Harmful acts become visible, their attachment dark and red; her kin increase, and her husband is bound in bonds. The body, stained by evil, becomes improper when the husband covers himself with the wife’s garment. Expectation, chastisement, and even severe severance—these are the forms of Sūryā, yet the priest purifies them. Some things are parched, bitter, like a boneless bone or poison—they are not to be given; only the priest who knows the Sūryā rite is worthy of the bride. He alone removes misfortune—the priest who knows the auspicious garment, who studies the expiation by which the wife is unharmed. Together, the couple is to bring fortune, abundance, and immortality, as is spoken at the wedding. The Lord of Prayer is invoked to make the husband pleasing to his wife, and the charming companion is called to speak these sacred words.