Offer your voice, fresh and vibrant as a mountain spring, to the radiant troop of the Maruts—the self-luminous storm gods. Praise their mighty deeds with song, for they blaze in glory and perform sacred rites upon the very back of the sky. To you, Maruts—strong, ever-young, swift as the wind and yoked with horses—we sing our hymns. You bear the lightning and roar in unison; your coming resounds in the waters, and the torrents pour forth at your command. Brilliant as fire, stormy and mountain-born, your chariots seem to strike sparks as they race. Even as you bring rain, your thunder rolls again and again; wrapped in your roaring, you unleash your mighty force. Rudras, powerful and unconquerable, you sweep away every covering, clearing the midspace and the regions between. When you drive away obstacles, O Maruts, it is as a ship parts the waves—you do not fail, even in the face of danger. Your strength and greatness stretch far, like the course of the sun itself. In your wanderings, your fires remain untouched, even as you, without horses, traverse the mountains. The Maruts shine forth in their splendor; adorned, they do no harm to the trees, just as the skilled craftsman preserves what he touches. United in will, you guide us on the good path, like a true guide leading one with sight. The one you favor, O Maruts—whether sage or king—is never overcome, never slain, never decays or trembles or perishes. No enemy approaches his wealth. Victorious in battle, you and your bands are never deceived. When the singers raise their voices, you fill the vessel and moisten the earth with the sweetness of soma. Let the earth incline to the Maruts, let the sky lean towards those who strive, let the paths of the midspace and the ancient mountains themselves incline before you. When you rejoice, O Maruts, full of strength and shining like the rising sun, your tireless horses swiftly reach the journey’s end. On your shoulders gleam spears, on your thighs daggers, and golden ornaments adorn your chests. Upon your splendid chariots, your arms shine like fire, lightning flashes in your hands, and your golden crests are spread upon your heads. That flaming, shining summit—the bright-leaved one—you shake, O Maruts. From the farthest places you assemble, swift as the call of heroes rings out. From you, O Maruts, may we gain discerning and abundant wealth, fit for chariots; may the sure archer, who never fails, bring us your thousandfold treasure. You grant splendid, heroic riches, O Maruts. You protect the sage, the singer of the Sama, and you grant victory’s prize to the swift racer, bestowing kingship upon the worthy. That wealth I seek from you, Maruts—wealth we may share among men, with your help. May my pleasing words delight you, by whose power we may cross a hundred winters safely. With sacrificial zeal, the Maruts set out—shining in form, strong in might, golden ornaments upon their breasts, riding swift and well-trained horses. Let your chariots advance on a favorable path. You bear your strength knowingly, great and mighty ones, shining widely. You have measured out the midspace by your power, and your splendid chariots advance in perfect order. Born together, splendid and released together, you grow strong for glory. Radiant as the sun’s rays, your chariots move forward in formation. Your greatness, O Maruts, is adorned and worthy to behold, like the eye of the sun. Place immortality for us, as your chariots advance. You stir up waters from the ocean, showering rain, rich in abundance—no wondrous cows withhold their gifts from you. When you yoke your spotted mares and harness the golden ones, you scatter all foes; nothing can hinder your advance—not mountains nor rivers, nor even heaven and earth. Whatever is ancient or new, whatever is prepared or praised—of all this, O Vasus, you are the knowers. Be gracious to us, O Maruts; do not harm us, but grant us wide protection. Accept our hymn of friendship. Lead us toward wealth, away from those who seek to harm us, and accept our oblation, O worthy ones, that we may be masters of riches. Agni, summon today the most powerful host—the Maruts, adorned with gold—from the shining sky to help us. As you intend in your heart, so may it be for me; let those nearest come to your offerings and increase, O fierce one. Like the earth, rich in gifts, they rejoice as they come; fierce as a bear, strong as a wild bull or a mighty cow, the Maruts’ power is unstoppable. With their strength, they loosen all bonds, like cows that cannot be restrained. Even stones, mountains, and hills tremble before their might. Rise up with praises for these adorned ones, and call the wonderful, unprecedented host of the Maruts, flowing like a herd of cows. Yoke the red steeds and the tawny ones to your chariots; yoke the swiftest bays to the yoke for drawing. The vigorous, red, loudly roaring one is set here, splendid to behold. Let not your steeds linger, O Maruts—urge them onward on your chariots. We call now upon the Marut chariot, famed for glory, upon which the two worlds, bearing treasures, have stood together with the Maruts. That mighty, adorned host, worthy of praise, I call—the well-born, fortunate one magnified among the Maruts, the bountiful. O Rudras, endowed with Indra’s might, united and riding golden chariots, come for our well-being. This prayer rises to you, as thirst rises from waters to the sky. You possess voices, spears, wisdom, fine bows, arrows, and quivers; you have noble steeds and splendid chariots, born of Prishni, and your own weapons—bring us auspiciousness, O Maruts. You shake the sky and mountains; forests tremble in fear at your coming. You stir the earth, children of Prishni, fierce and splendid, when your spotted mares are yoked. Swift as the wind, pouring rain, you are like well-matched, splendid horses—tawny and red steeds, shining with bright bodies. Your greatness resounds like the sky. Rich in gifts, adorned and generous, splendid in appearance and free from darkness, you are well-born, with golden breasts, and have attained immortal fame in heaven through your radiance. Your spears rest upon your shoulders, O Maruts; strength and power dwell in your arms. Heroism crowns your heads, your weapons are ever ready on your chariots, and all glory is woven into your very being.