With devotion and reverence, the sage raised his voice in praise, seeking the well-being of all, and offered his truthful hymn to Heaven and Earth. These two vast realms, resplendent, poured forth their gifts, their radiant steeds the color of flame, filling the expanse and spreading their own light in surging waves. Such is their might that the very earth quakes in awe, trembling like a brimming boat set adrift and shaken. The far-seeing ones, ever watchful, discern these signs, and in the great assembly of men, the people strive to honor them. These powers shine forth like the finest horn that brings glory to the cows, like the sun’s bright eye in the vast sky. They stand revealed, splendid as swift horses in their beauty, noble men shining for all to see, their presence recognized by all people. Among these mighty ones, the Maruts, who holds the greatest power? Who among them displays the most wondrous strength? When the Maruts set the earth trembling, as easily as a blade of grass, they move forth to bestow blessings and good fortune. Like red steeds with their companions, like warriors eager for the fray, the Maruts join together in battle. Vigorous as youthful men, they grow strong, and with their rain-laden might, they veil even the eye of the sun. They are neither eldest nor youngest, but ever springing forth, with none among them in the middle. By their greatness, they have become vast, well-born from birth, children of Prisni, sons of Heaven. To these noble ones, the sage calls: “Come to us.” Like flocks of birds, the Maruts soar in ordered ranks, their power carrying them beyond the peaks of the sky. Their horses, of every kind, know their paths well, and together they shake the summits of the mountains and the heavens themselves. May the sky and Aditi, the boundless mother, measure out their protection for us, and may the shining Dawns strive together for our good. The Maruts, singers of Rudra, have opened the celestial vessel, pouring forth blessings, as the seer beholds. With reverence, the sage turns to Agni, the gracious one, discerning all deeds, well-established in the ritual fire. As chariots ready for battle, he strengthens his hymn to the Maruts, who move in a shining circle. Wherever the Rudras, the Maruts, stand in their adorned, delightful chariots, the forests themselves tremble in fear of their might. Even the earth and the mountains quake before them, so powerful are these radiant ones. The great mountains, grown tall, are afraid, and the summit of heaven itself trembles at their thunderous sound. When the Maruts play with their spears, they rush together like mighty waters flowing in unison. Adorned with gold, splendid in their appearance, they cover themselves with their own power. For glory, the most glorious, they ride their strong chariots, accomplishing great deeds together in their forms. They are neither eldest nor youngest; brothers all, they have grown together for good fortune. Their youthful father, the wise Rudra, and their nourishing mother, Prisni, grant fair days to their sons, the Maruts. Whatever is highest, or in the middle, or lowest among the Maruts, all that is theirs in heaven—of that, whether of the Rudras or perhaps of Agni, may the worshippers gain knowledge through their offerings and invocations. When Agni, all-knowing, and the Maruts bring their chariots from the highest heaven, may these joyous, generous, and liberal ones grant wealth to the worshipper who pours the sacred libation. Agni, together with the Maruts, shining and chanting, drink the Soma with delight, surrounded by their splendid hosts. With pure, all-pervading, immortal flames, O universal Agni, come to us with your sign from heaven. The sage then wonders, “Which among you, O men, are the most excellent, who have come one by one from the farthest distance?” He inquires, “Where are your horses? Where are your reins? How did you manage your journey, and who sits behind you as your companion?” At their backs is the goad, their thighs spread apart, as fathers act for the sake of sons. The sage urges, “Go forth, O heroes, O youthful ones of noble birth; as you are kindled by Agni, so may you be.” He prays, “May you grant us the wealth of Sanatśāśva, and cattle, and a hundredfold abundance, for the one praised by Śyāvāśva, you who are generous with your arms.” To the woman he speaks: “Become more desirable than a man, more sought after, when you turn away from the godless and the irreverent.” She, wise and discerning, recognizes the cunning, the thirsty, the desiring, and directs her mind toward the divine. Yet, the unpraised one boasts, “I am a man”; he is a Pani, an enemy, unchanged and unyielding. The eager, youthful woman has not approached him; instead, the path turns toward Śyāvā, while the red ones have chosen the long-famed sage, much invoked. He who gave a hundred cows, as if giving ten times over, stands out in greatness, crossing over all obstacles. Those who swiftly carry her, drinking the exhilarating mead, have here attained renown. For these ones, the heavens and earth shine with splendor, their chariots gleaming like gold in the sky above. Young and mighty is the host of the Maruts, their chariots unassailable, shining, and unopposed. Who truly knows where their impelled ones rejoice, born of truth and without stain? You wise Maruts, lead mortals rightly with your insight; you hear the calls at the sacrifices. May you, worthy of sacrifice, grant us desirable riches, shining before us, O destroyers of foes. “Carry this praise of mine, O goddess, like a charioteer, to Dārbhya, son of Urmya,” the sage implores. He continues, “Speak to me, O Aditi, at the Soma-pressing, at the chariot-race; my desire remains steadfast.” Here dwells the generous charioteer, sheltered in the rich meadows and mountains. By truth, the truth is concealed; in that firm place where the horses of the sun are released, ten hundreds together stood. There, the sage beheld the one, greatest in splendor among the gods. This, O Mitra and Varuṇa, is your greatness: the steadfast have drawn it forth by day. You cause the cows of your stream to swell, and one axle revolves for you. You, Mitra and Varuṇa, kings by your greatness, have supported earth and sky. You make the plants grow, the cows flourish, you send down rain, and bestow long life. Let your well-yoked, swift-footed horses bring you here, drawing your chariot close. The channels of clarified butter are prepared for you, and the rivers flow from the sky to greet you. Following your renowned, unfailing wisdom, protected by sacred utterance as a sacrificial seat, with reverence and firm skill, you dwell in the depths, O Mitra and Varuṇa, together with Ilā. Thus, the hymns resound, weaving praise and supplication to the mighty Maruts, to Agni, to Mitra and Varuṇa, to Aditi and the shining hosts—invoking their blessings, their protection, and their ever-renewing bounty for all beings.