The rivers have come to me in mine extremity; I stand alone, surrounded and dismay'd. Mine enemies do press upon my head, and I cry out to the All-Gods for aid.

O Viśvedevas, assembly of the divine, come now and hearken to this prayer of mine. I am but one man caught in the abyss, betrayed by those I thought would not dismiss. The waters rise upon every side — nowhere to turn, nowhere left to hide.

There was a man named Trita, wise and bold, who went down, down into the pit so cold. His enemies had cast him there to die, in darkness deep beneath the starless sky. He called upon the gods with voice so hoarse; but none did come to aid him in his course.

Then suddenly the Viśvedevas heard his cry, and came in haste from out the starlit sky. They drew him up from out that dreadful place, and set his feet upon the earth's bright face. The light returned, his enemies did flee, and Trita lived to walk in liberty.

So now I cry to you, O All-Gods great, do not abandon me unto this fate. I stand alone, the waters close me round; in you alone my hope and strength is found.

Come now, O Viśvedevas, strong and wise, come down and open up the blinded eyes. The storm doth rage, my enemies do mock, but you are greater than the hardest rock.

Deliver me from out this pit of woe, and let my enemies in terror go. Grant me the strength to rise and walk once more, and I shall worship you forevermore. Accept this prayer from one who is most small, O mighty gods who hearken unto all.