O Rudra, terrible! O god most dread! We bow before thee with much fear and dread. Thou art the archer with the deadly bow; thou art the one from whom the demons flow.

O fierce one, thou dost wear the lightning bright upon thy brow, and hold the power of might. Thy form is wild, thy voice doth shake the earth, and all things tremble at thy fearful birth.

We know thy wrath is swift and sure and strong; thy arrows come to those who do thee wrong. Yet thou art also merciful and kind, to those who give thee praise and humble mind.

O Rudra, hear our prayer, we come to thee not with our boldness, but our poverty. We are but mortals weak and small and poor; we seek thy mercy and thy healing lore.

Turn back thy wrath from us and from our kin; forgive us now for all our mortal sin. Grant us the healing of thy gentle hand; let us not feel the power of thy brand.

Thou art the god of fever and of pain, the god who summons pestilence and bane. Yet thou art also he who hath the cure, whose touch can make the suffering one pure.

O Shiva bright, most merciful of all, we raise to thee our voices small. Do not destroy us with thy fatal dart; but grant to us thy most compassionate heart.

We offer thee our praise and our devotion; we come before thee with our souls' emotion. Accept our offerings, hear our humble cry, and let us not beneath thy anger die.

O Rudra powerful, grant us thy blessing, and keep us safe from all that's distressing. Let us forever know thy gentle side, and in thy mercy let us always hide.