The Ribhus, skilled artisans among the gods, fashioned a name both worthy and beautiful, a name that would shine with honor. The divine Agni, master of all crafts and forms, shaped every aspect of creation, wrapping himself in the skin and stepping in ghee, the sacred clarified butter. In this way, Agni, ever-vigilant, protects all, never ceasing in his guardianship. Agni enters the womb filled with ghee, spreading wide, shining, and radiant. He is pure and lofty, bright and ever-renewed by his mothers, who nurture him again and again. Newborn, Agni grows with the flourishing plants, nourished by ghee as he shines like flowing waters, resting in the lap of his parents. When Agni rises, praised and kindled, he shines swiftly from the navel where heaven and earth meet. Mitra, Agni, and Mātariśvan, the worthy messenger, carry the offerings to the gods. Agni, kindled, upholds the high heaven, becoming the highest among the shining realms. It was Mātariśvan who brought the hidden carrier of offerings to the Bhṛgus, kindling Agni anew. The people pray: “Grant us, Agni, abundant and lasting wealth, especially cattle, for the one who invokes you. May our sons be victorious and wise, and may your favor always be with us.” Let the singers, reflecting deeply, lead the divine hymn with devotion, bringing gifts and offerings to Agni, adorned with ghee. As Agni is born, he fills both worlds, and now the gifts are brought, the offering is ready. Even in heaven and on earth, Agni’s greatness is spoken of, especially his seven-tongued fires. Heaven and earth, worthy of sacrifice, seat Agni as the Hotar, the priest, in the house, while the peoples, devoted and eager, invoke his shining flame with abundant offerings. Great and firmly seated in his abode, Agni shines between heaven and earth, radiant and accompanied by the ageless, unblemished nourishing cows, praised far and wide. Agni’s vows are mighty and powerful; by his strength, he stretches out the two worlds. From birth, he became the messenger, the leader, the strong one among peoples. Harness, O tawny-haired Agni, the well-yoked, ghee-anointed red steeds of truth. Then, O god Jātavedas, bring all the gods together, making the ritual well-ordered. Even from the sky, Agni’s lights shine forth, following the ancient dawns as they brighten. When the gods delight in the offering, they carry the oblations in the woods of the sacrificial fire. Whether they rejoice in the wide atmosphere or dwell in the shining realm of heaven, or are gracious and worshipful, let Agni’s chariot-horses bring them here. With these, O Agni, come hither with your chariot, or with many chariots, for you have many horses. Bring the thirty-three gods who have wives, each according to the ritual, and rejoice. Agni is the priest for whom even the two worlds are broad, praised in every sacrifice. At the ritual, the two—right-ordered and true-born—stand facing east in the truth of the rite. Again, the people pray: “Grant us, O Agni, abundant, lasting wealth of cattle, the best sustenance for the one who invokes you. May our son and his offspring be victorious; may your good favor be with us.” The seven voices have entered the mother, mounting the back of the spotted bull. The two fathers, well-guarded, move together, flowing forth and manifesting long life. The cows of heaven, strong horses, and goddesses stand, bearing sweetness. In the seat of truth, the cow moves alone, seeking well-being. Now they have ascended, becoming well-yoked, guided by the wise lord of the givers. The many-formed one, with a dark back, settles them, the one of many shapes. The great, nourishing offspring of Tvaṣṭṛ, straight-moving and supported, carry the one who is to be carried. Shining with their forms, they enter the seat as if the two worlds were one. They know the blessing of the strong, ruddy one; they roar at the command of the spotted one. The lights of heaven shine brightly, their songs counted among the great, belonging to Iḷā. With the two fathers, they bring forth a mighty sound from the great ones. Where the bull circles the enclosure of the milker, there the singer declares his own abode. With five priests, the seven sages guard the beloved, established track of the bull. The forward-yoked, unwearied ones rejoice, and the gods follow the vows of the gods. The divine priests, the first, have sat down; the seven pure ones rejoice in their own nature. Proclaiming truth, they call the friend of truth; the keepers of vows, shining, follow the vow. The strong ones are yoked for the great journey, the bright, well-yoked rays for the strong one. O divine priest, most delightful and wise, bring here the great gods, the two worlds. Those yoked to the pure, eloquent, and well-guided have called forth the radiant dawns. If, O Agni, through the greatness of earth, any offense has been committed, forgive it for our great good. Once more, the people pray: “Grant us, O Agni, abundant, lasting wealth of cattle, the best sustenance for the one who invokes you. May our son and his offspring be victorious; may your good favor be with us.” At the sacrifice, they anoint you, O Lord of the Forest, with celestial honey, divine one, whether you stand upright or rest in the lap of your mother. May you grant wealth here, whether above or below. Taking shelter before the kindled one, composing hymns and striving for the undying, noble one, drive far from us hostile thoughts, rise up for our great good fortune. Rise up, O Lord of the Forest, upon the surface of the earth; measure out good counsel and establish your radiance for carrying the sacrifice. Young, well-clad, wrapped around, he comes—better as he is born. The wise and poets raise him up, self-ruled, worshipping with their minds. Born, he is born again in the brightness of days, growing strong in the assembly. The wise purify the offerings with thought, and the inspired priest raises the hymn with devotion. Whatever men, worshippers, have fashioned for you, O Lord of the Forest, or whatever the carver has shaped—may those gods, standing with their own sound, grant us the treasure with offspring. Those cut and set upon the earth, those fashioned with straight edges—may they grant us abundant gifts, divine, bringing success in the field. The Ādityas, Rudras, Vasus, guides of the good path, Heaven and Earth, the broad earth and midspace—may all the gods together protect the sacrifice and raise high the sign of the ritual. Like swans in a shining line, clothed in white, the singers come, raised up by poets at the front, the gods traveling the path of the gods. Like the horns of horned ones, the singers with their drinking vessels are seen upon the earth; whether with words or in the call, hearing, may they protect us in the contests for victory. O Lord of the Forest, hundred-branched, grow forth; thousand-branched, may we grow forth with you, whom the carver, sharpening, has brought forth for our great good fortune. And so, as friends, we have chosen you, O god, O mortal, for help—the offspring of the waters, fortunate, shining, well-guided, praised, and sinless.