As the first light of dawn approaches, sweet voices rise in prayer and generous hearts awaken. The sacred fires, kindled anew, glow brightly, dispelling the darkness that once concealed the earth’s treasures. Now, as the Dawns shine forth, their radiant light uncovers riches long veiled by night. One Dawn departs, making way for another; these two, distinct in their forms, travel side by side across the sky. One, riding her shining chariot, banishes the shadows, while her sister, the new Dawn, appears in resplendent glory. Day after day, in an unbroken sequence ordained by Varuṇa, they follow their ancient path. Each Dawn, flawless in her journey, traverses thirty yojanas with swift certainty, never faltering in her course. The Dawn knows the secret of the first day; she is born bright and pure from the darkness, a white radiance emerging from the black. This maiden of truth, steadfast and unwavering, never strays from her appointed order, faithfully returning every day. Adorned like a youthful bride, she approaches the divine, eager to be seen and remembered. She makes the paths visible for all, her shining presence illuminating the way. Radiant and beautiful, like a bride adorned by her mother’s loving hands, the Dawn makes herself pleasing to behold. “O auspicious Dawn,” the hymn prays, “spread your light wide—let not your sisters fade before you.” Rich in horses and cattle, bestowing all blessings, the Dawns strive with the rays of the Sun, coming and going, always bearing the name of auspiciousness. With her rays, the Dawn follows the path of truth. “Grant us your best resolve,” the people entreat her. “Shine upon us today, O gracious one, and may we find wealth among the generous.” As the Dawn rises, she kindles the sacred fires and the Sun ascends, spreading his light across the vast sky. The god Savitar sets forth blessings for all—bipeds and quadrupeds alike. The Dawn never transgresses the divine laws nor disrupts the ways of men. Among all who come and go, she is foremost, shining with the likeness of the eternal. This radiant daughter of heaven advances, adorned with light, always at the front. She follows the good path of truth, knowing her way, never missing the right direction. She appears like the nurturing breast of a pure woman, manifesting her beloved forms with the skill of a devoted wife. She awakens the sleepers, returning again and again, the most constant of all who come back. In the bright half of the sky, the mother of cows has made her sign, spreading wide and bestowing abundance, filling both parents’ lap with her gifts. This same Dawn, most bountiful, is seen by all—she rejects neither the newborn nor the spouse. Untouched by blemish, adorned in beauty, she turns away from neither child nor elder as she shines forth. She comes like a cloud toward the longing man, like a well-dug channel for the seeker of wealth. Like a wife to her husband, adorned and eager, she releases the waters, bright as a herd of cattle. Like a younger sister returning to her elder’s home, she appears as if coming back to her own dwelling, shining with the Sun’s rays, adorned and surrounded like a gathering of women. Of all the Dawns, the later ones follow the earlier, each new Dawn rising as the ancient ones did, bringing wealth and a good day. “Awaken us, O Dawn, with your bounty,” the people pray. “Let those still sleeping be awakened. Rise with riches for the generous, O bountiful one, and reward our hymns and true words.” This young maiden, rich in horses, yokes at the front the red cattle, the leaders of the herd. As she rises, her banner is unfurled, and Agni, the sacred fire, stands in every home. Even the birds fly from their nests, and men gather to share offerings with their ancestors at dawn. O divine Dawn, you bring much wealth to the worshipper and to every mortal who tends his home. With hymns and songs, the people praise the Dawns, praying that their blessings ever increase. “With your favor, O goddesses, may we attain a thousandfold and hundredfold reward.” In the morning, the wise one brings forth and receives a treasure, setting it down with care. With this gift, he increases his offspring and prolongs his life, prospering in wealth and heroic strength. Indra himself bestows upon such a giver a good dwelling, much gold, fine horses, and great abundance. The one who brings the morning offering releases treasure, as a victor frees his foot from a snare. Today, as the worshipper brings his morning gift, he approaches with a chariot full of wealth, like a son coming to his father. He drinks the pressed Soma and, with true words, increases the hero’s strength. Rivers flow together in joy, and cows come to the sacrificer; streams of ghee pour forth from every side, filling and overflowing. The giver stands established on the summit of the sky, his gifts leading him among the gods. For him, the waters bring ghee, the rivers flow, and the offering is always abundant. These splendid things belong to the generous; for them, the sun shines in the sky. Those who give partake of immortality and extend their lifespan. “May the generous never know misfortune, nor may their sons be harmed,” the hymn pleads. “Let boundaries be set for others, but let sorrow fall only on those who do not give.” With heartfelt thought, the poet offers abundant praise to the lord of the Sindhu, the wealthy king who, desiring fame, has measured out a thousand gifts. A hundred golden necklets, a hundred ready horses, a hundred cows—all these come from the generous Kakṣīvant, whose fame is spread in heaven, undecaying. To the poet come ten chariots with brides from the Śyāva, and sixty thousand cattle follow. The wealth of Kakṣīvant pours in abundance at the day’s end. Forty red horses lead the line at the head of a thousand, swift steeds surpassing all others. Following the earlier gift, the poet receives garments, yoked eight times, and cows. Charioteers, like close clansmen, attain fame without need of wagons. The adorned Yaduri, encircled like a girdle on a Kashi woman’s thigh, gives hundreds of enjoyable, swift, and plentiful things. “Come near, examine me,” the poet invites. “Do not scorn my smallness; I am entirely hairy, like a ewe among the Gandharis.” Turning to Agni, the sacred fire, the poet regards him as the Hotar, the generous and wealthy son of strength, the sage who knows all births. Pure in his rites and filled with divine compassion, Agni follows the shining flow of ghee with his flame, ever offering the clarified butter. The people invoke Agni, most fit for sacrifice, the greatest of the Angirases, the sage, with their hymns and purest thoughts. Like a guardian of the sky, the Hotar of the peoples, Agni stands with flaming hair, strong and ever ready to help the clans. Shining with great strength and radiance, Agni becomes the destroyer of foes, like an axe cleaving through obstacles. Even those who lie low in his presence, like a dense forest, are overcome and subdued. He leads the way, unconquered in battle. Strongholds yield to him; he knows the paths, and with the swiftest kindling-sticks, he brings the offering to completion. Like a carpenter with his flame, he pierces and cuts through even the firmest things with his strength. The people meditate on Agni’s brightness among the dark, for he is more clearly seen by night than by day. To him, as to a beloved son, they seek shelter, both devoted and undevoted alike, trusting in the undying Agni’s protection. Thus, the hymns praise the Dawns and the givers, the sacred fire and the blessings of the gods, celebrating the eternal order, the gifts of light, and the abundance that flows from generosity, truth, and reverence.