YEA, mortals have labored to serve the gods, bringing near Mitra and Varuṇa to share their sacrifices.
Supreme in dominion, far-sighted, chiefs and kings, most swift to hear from afar, Both, marvelously, they set them in motion with arms, alongside Sūrya’s beams.
The swift messenger who runs before you, Mitra-Varuṇa, with iron head, swift to the draught,
Him no man may question, none may call back, who stands not still for conversation— Keep us safe from hostile clashes today: keep us in safety with your arms.
Sing a reverent song to Aryaman and Mitra, O devout one, A pleasant hymn that shall protect Varuṇa: sing forth a laud to the kings.
They sent the True, the Red Treasure, one only Son born of the Three. They, the Immortals, never deceived, watch over mortal families.
My songs are lifted high, splendid acts to be performed. Come hither, Nāsatyas, with minds in harmony, to meet and enjoy my gifts.
Lords of great wealth, when we invoke your bounty that no demon checks, Both of you, furthering our eastward-offering praise, come, chiefs praised by Jamadagni!
Come, Vāyu, drawn by fair hymns, to our sacrifice reaching heaven. Poured on the middle of the straining cloth, and cooked, this bright drink was offered.
He comes by straightest paths, as the ministering priest, to taste the sacrificial gifts. Then, Lord of chariots, I drink of the twofold draught, bright Soma mixed with milk.
Truly, Sūrya, you are great; truly, Āditya, you are great. As you are great indeed, your greatness is admired: yes, truly, you, God, are great.
You are great in fame, always great, O God, are great. You, by your greatness, are the High Priest of the gods, divine, far-spread, unconquerable light.
She, bending lowly, clothed in red hues and rich in rays, Is seen, advancing with various tints, amidst the ten surrounding arms.
Three mortal generations past and gone: the fourth and last