O Aśvins bright, whose chariot doth shine with gold and light most radiant and divine! Ye ride upon the pathways of the air, and bring to mortals blessing everywhere.

What makes thy chariot glow with such great light? What power propels it through the starry night? The wheels do spin with such a perfect grace, yet swiftly carry thee from place to place.

O Aśvins, ye are sweet as honeycomb, ye are the refuge of the weary home. The gifts ye bring are sweeter than the mead, and all the world doth thank you for each deed.

Ye bear to mortals treasures manifold, more precious far than all the hoarded gold. Ye bring the healing salve unto the wound, ye bring the joy that healeth all around.

Ye wear the flowers in your hair so bright, and scatter them throughout the morning light. Ye are the gods of sweetness and of song, the ones to whom the grateful ones belong.

Your chariot hath wheels of golden hue, with honey-voiced deeds that ye ever do. We hear of thee and our hearts leap with cheer, for we know that the Aśvins doth draw near.

What mortal hath not felt thy gentle care? What wounded heart hath not known thy repair? Ye come to those who suffer and who grieve, and grant to them the power to believe.

In the sweetness of the morning dew, in all the gifts that nature giveth true, we see thy hand and know thy love so vast. Ye are the blessing that forever shall last.

O Aśvins sweet, accept our humble prayer, and grant unto our lives thy honeyed care.