May Sarasvati, the beloved among the cherished seven sisters, be pleased with us and worthy of our praise. She, Sarasvati, fills the earthly realms, the broad middle space, and the atmosphere above; may she drive away all our foes. She stands established in three worlds, has seven sources, and five forms of birth, ever increasing in her abundance; may we call upon her in every contest, invoking her strength and presence. By her greatness, Sarasvati is foremost among the mighty—surpassing all others in splendor, radiant like a chariot built for display. The wise and learned praise her, recognizing her as the best among the great. Sarasvati, bring us wealth; do not withhold your abundance from us. Grant us your friendship and hospitality. May we never wander into barren lands, far from your fertile fields. Now, I turn my praise to the two swift Ashvins, the divine horsemen of heaven. Though I grow old, I call upon them with hymns—those who, at dawn and at the coming of light, speed swiftly across the farthest realms. Shining brilliantly, they wheel their chariot through the sacrifice, their pure radiance lighting up the spaces. Measuring countless realms, they cross rivers and deserts, unhindered and unstoppable. They are the very course of help, when the strong, untiring ones, ever with swift horses, carry the thoughts and prayers of mortals, bringing aid with their mind-speeding steeds. Ever new, they adorn the hymn of the aging singer, yoking their chariot afresh. They bring auspicious rain, food, and strength, invoked by the Hotar—those ancient, unfailing, ever-youthful ones. Beautiful and wondrous, the Ashvins are most praised among men; I invoke them with both ancient and new words. They are praised for bringing happiness and are generous to the singer. With their chariot, they rescued Bhujyu, son of Tugra, from the waters, from the sea, crossing great distances on dustless paths, their chariot flying like birds, bringing him safely to shore. With their victorious chariot, the two mighty ones sped to the mountain at the call of Vadhrimati; granting favor to the one who lay down, they filled the cows with milk, bringing good fortune with their generosity. Whatever greatness exists in the highest sky, or among gods and mortals, O Adityas, Vasus, and Rudras, you place it as a burning weapon against the demon. He who, as king, wisely rules the spaces—Mitra and Varuna know this—holds deep protection and the power of the weapon, even against the deceitful, for the sake of truth and for those who would bring harm. With your wheel, Ashvins, come for our offspring, with your shining, man-bearing chariot; with your strength, drive away the enemy of man, even if he is strong—cut off his head. Come with your bands from the highest, middle, and lowest realms; break open, even the strong and cattle-rich enclosure, for the singer, O generous ones. Where now are those splendid Ashvins, so often invoked, whom the hymn as messenger did not find among the unworthy? Those two, who turn toward us, are most beloved; indeed, the thought of the faithful is steadfast for them. Come to me for the offering, as those who praise you, so that you may drink the Soma. Let your course circle around, unharmed; let nothing hinder or interrupt your praise. A path has been prepared for the Soma-drinker; the sacred grass is spread, most suitable for your approach. With hands raised, the youthful one honors you; the shining stones mark your arrival. Your Agni stands upright in the rituals; the offering flows, adorned with ghee. The eager priest moves forward, yoking the oblation for you, O Ashvins. For glory, the daughter of the Sun, possessing much, stood upon your chariot with a hundred powers. By their magic, the magicians have acted here; dancers are born among the worshippers. You have brought beauty and radiance, splendid, to the daughter of the Sun. Your swift horses have followed for your glory; the praised speech, O lords of the altar, marks your arrival. Your swift horses and chariots, O Ashvins, have brought you here. Your mind-speeding chariot races forth, urging on those who came before. Indeed, you, possessing much, have nourished abundant gifts like a cow, bestowing wealth again and again. Praised are your honeyed and excellent gifts, and those who follow your generosity are blessed. To me, in the city of the swift, a hundred cooked dishes and a hundred in the granary have been given. Shanda, the generous, has gifted ten fat cows and triumphed over the mighty. A hundred and a thousand horses, O Ashvins, have been given along the many mountain paths. Now, O heroes, give to Bharadvaja on the mountain; let the destroyers be defeated by your abundant power. May we attain your favor, your broad path, together with the noble ones. Now, the radiant splendors of the dawns have arisen, shining as they stand upon the waters, their horses gleaming. She, the dawn, makes all good paths and easy ways; the generous reward becomes abundant. Beautiful to behold, she shines widely; her rays, O dawn, spread to the sky. Revealing her form, she makes the world bright, shining with her greatness. The red horses carry her, spreading good fortune widely. The hero, who drives her chariot, dispels enemies like a spear, sweeps away darkness, swift as a carrier. Her good path, her easy way, is on the mountains; she drives away darkness with her own light. Bring to us, O daughter of heaven, abundant wealth for our nourishment. With yoked horses, she brings the best, O dawn; she carries the desired gift with joy. Glorious in the ancient invocation, she is splendid to behold, O daughter of heaven. Even the birds of the dwelling have flown up, and those men who share in the father rise at the dawn. You, O goddess dawn, bring much to us at home, for the worshipping mortal. She is our daughter of heaven, born shining, rising among peoples, human and divine. Radiant with her light, beautiful, she is recognized even beyond the darkness and the nights. The radiant dawns, with their red-yoked horses, shine forth in splendor; their moon-like chariots lead the way for the great sacrifice. They drive away the darkness of the waves. The dawns bring glory, strength, nourishment, and vigor for the worshipper, for mortals. Generous, they grant heroic offspring; today, bestow the precious gift upon the one who offers. Now, indeed, you dawns have bestowed the precious gift; now, for the hero, for the worshipper. Now, for the inspired poet, when he recites hymns, you have always carried it for the seeker, even from ancient times. Now, indeed, O dawns, the Angiras praise you for the cattle, for the cows. With the sun’s ray and with prayer, they broke through; true was the invocation of men to the gods. Rise, O daughter of heaven, ancient, like Bharadvaja, generous to the worshipper. Grant us abundant wealth and heroic strength; place glory upon us, wide-famed. Let that form be known to the wise—one name, the Cow, is common, yet she is distributed in many ways. For mortals, she yields another for milking; once, the bright one, Pṛśni, gave her milk. Thus, the hymns praise Sarasvati, the Ashvins, the radiant Dawn, and the ancient Cow, invoking their blessings, strength, and abundance for mortals, and recalling their wondrous deeds and gifts, ever generous to those who seek and honor them.