Come, Maruts, to your lightning-borne chariots, singing sweetly, armed with spears, riding on swift horses.
Fly to us with your finest offerings, like birds, oh mighty ones.
With your red or tawny horses that carry you swiftly, you come for glory.
Like gold itself, you hold the thunder. You strike the earth with your chariot's wheel.
For beauty, you have swords on your bodies. As you stir forests, may you stir our spirits too.
For your sake, oh mighty Maruts born and well-born, they have set the stone in motion.
The days went round you and came back, O yearning Maruts, back to this prayer and this solemn worship.
Gotamas make their prayer with singing, lifting the well's lid to drink its water.
No hymn like this was ever sung before, when Gotama sang for you, oh Maruts,
When he saw you, wild boars rushing with iron tusks, on your golden wheels.
To you comes this refreshing draught of Soma, oh Maruts, like a prayer's voice.
It flows freely from our hands, as libations do, just as they should.