We have seen you, O Jātavedas Agni, in many wondrous forms: you enter the waters and the plants, your presence shining everywhere. Even Yama, radiant and discerning, has recognized you as you shine forth beyond the ten regions of the world. In times past, out of fear of Varuṇa, I withdrew from the priesthood; the gods did not unite me in that role. My forms are established in many places, yet, O Agni, I did not fully understand this purpose or my own path. O Manu, desiring the sacrifice, come and lead Agni, the divine one, out of darkness along the right path. Make the way smooth for the gods, bring the offerings with a kindly heart, and let all be auspicious. Agni’s elder brothers once pursued this same purpose, following the path like skilled charioteers. Thus, out of fear of Varuṇa, I have journeyed far, like one pale and not the swiftest among the unsuccessful. O Agni, we make your life ageless, so that, harnessed as the Knower of all births, you do not perish. With benevolence, you carry the gods’ well-born portion of the offering. Grant me, Agni, the portions of the offerings, both beginning and end, full of strength. Let there be ghee—the essence of waters and plants—and may the gods grant you long life. May your offerings, both preliminary and concluding, be strong and nourishing, O Agni. May this entire sacrifice be yours, and may all four directions bow before you. Let all the gods instruct me here, as the chosen Hotar takes his seat for the rite. Tell me my rightful share, that I may carry your oblation by the path you approve. Now, as the Hotar, I have taken my seat for the sacrifice. All the gods and the Maruts support me. Day by day, O Aśvins, your priest becomes the offerer, and the offering is made to you. This Hotar, whoever he may be, is brought to Yama; he ponders whatever the gods approve. Day by day he is born anew, month by month, as the gods have established the carrier of the oblation. The gods have established me as the unwearied carrier of their offerings, moving through many hardships. Agni, the knower, arranges our sacrifice—fivefold, threefold, woven with seven threads. May I obtain for you immortality and heroic strength, O gods, so that I may make a wide path for you. May I place Indra’s thunderbolt in your arms, that with it you may win all battles. Three hundred and three thousand gods, and thirty-nine more, worshipped Agni. They anointed him with ghee, spread the sacred grass for him, and seated him as the Hotar. He whom we desired in our hearts has come—wise in sacrifice, skilled in rite. May he, most worthy of worship, grant us divine favor, for he who is present is not distant from us. Let the Hotar, most worthy of worship, take his seat; let the well-prepared offerings be declared. Let us worship the worshipful gods—come, O gods, let us praise you with clarified butter. Today, O gods, you have made our invocation successful. We have found the tongue of the sacrifice, the hidden one. He has come, bearing life, clothed in fragrance; today you have made our invocation auspicious. Today let me utter the first word, by which the gods overcame the Asuras. Nourished by strength, the worshipful ones, the five peoples, accept my offering. Let the five peoples accept my offering—those born of cows and those who are worshipful. May the earth protect us from earthly harm, and the midspace and heaven from what is above. Weave the thread, following the radiance of the sky; guard the luminous paths made by thought. Spin without breaking, O waters, protect us; be like Manu, generate the divine race. Unhitch the yoke, O Soma-rich ones; loosen the straps, untie the reins, and smooth them out. Carry the eight-wheeled chariot all around, by which the gods brought their beloved near. The stony one moves forward—join together, arise, cross over, O friends. Here let us leave behind those who were not helpful, and with the auspicious ones, let us cross to greater prizes. Tvaṣṭar, master of arts and deepest wisdom, bears vessels for the gods’ drink, most auspicious. He sharpens the iron axe, by which Brahmanaspati cleaves the obstacles. Indeed, the wise join together with axes, with which immortality was fashioned. Knowing the secret steps, they create, by which the gods attained deathlessness. With subtle mind and tongue, they placed the calf within the womb of the cow. He, ever benevolent, approaches all fitting things, the singer striving for victory. Your fame, O Maghavan Indra, is great indeed—when trembling earth and sky called upon you, you led the gods and surpassed the strength of the Dasa, aiding the offspring of that one. When you acted, growing in body and strength, O Indra, you declared your power among people. Let not your battles be called illusions—today, the enemy is not as before, to be tested. Who has reached the limit of your greatness, O Indra? Which of our forebears? For you created both mother and father together, from your own being. Four names of your lordship, mighty one, are found in the buffalo. You alone know all these deeds, O Maghavan, which you accomplished. You hold all things, visible and hidden treasures. Do not cross my desire, O Maghavan—you are the knower, you are Indra, the giver. He who placed light within light, who produced sweetness with honey—my praise for you, Indra, my song, made with sacred utterance, I have spoken aloud. Far away is that hidden name, by which the trembling ones called upon you for strength. You upheld earth and sky with your might, O Maghavan, and the radiant sons of your brother. Great is that hidden name, with which you, O many-skilled one, made what has been and what will be. The ancient light born of him, beloved, the beloved ones entered together, five in number. He filled earth, sky, and the middle region, five gods in turn, seven by seven. With thirty-four forms, he sees all, shining with his own light. You first shone forth, producing the first radiances, by which the nourished one is nourished. Your kinship is lower than the highest, your greatness unique in mighty lordship. The waxing moon dwells among many—young, yet gray-haired, awakening. Behold the divine poet’s greatness: he died yesterday, yet is born again the same. By power, the powerful, the ruddy, the eagle—great, heroic, ancient. What he knows is true, not vain; his wealth is splendid, both conqueror and giver. With these, he gave manly powers, with which the wielder of the thunderbolt drenched for the slaying of Vṛtra. Those gods, born from the act performed, arose from the ritual deed. With union, he creates deeds—all-powerful, destroyer of evil, ruler of all minds. Having drunk Soma, growing in heaven, the hero drove out and subdued the enemies. This is yours, one; that is yours, another; with the third light, unite. In gathering, let your bodies rejoice, beloved of the gods, in the highest birthplace. May your vigorous form, leading forth strength, grant us delight and protection. Unharmed, may you create your own radiance for the great support, like light in the sky, O gods. Thus flows the tale of the gods, of Agni and Indra, of sacrifice and wisdom, of victory and immortality, as revealed in the sacred hymns.