The Ṛbhus, whom the gods did make immortal through their craft most wondrous, sing we now—
Those three brothers born of strength, whose hands do shape the divine substance,
Whose skill doth turn the raw metal and the wood unto perfection.

Lo, they fashioned for Indra the cup that breaketh not, the vessel brimming ever,
And Indra, drinking deep therefrom, became exceeding mighty in his glory.
What mortal hand could turn the cup? What human skill could bind the metal thus?
Yet the Ṛbhus wrought it, and the gods did bow before their mastery.

They made the chariot for the Aśvins, bright and swift upon its wheels,
That carried forth the divine healers across the sky's wide reaches.
They wrought the bow for the celestial archer, bent and strung with sinew true,
And arrows fleet that pierce the dark and strike the demon's heart asunder.

The Ṛbhus toiled and labored without ceasing in their sacred workshop,
Their anvils rang with holy purpose, their hammers struck with rhythmic grace.
They ground the soma with their hands, and the priests did drink and praise,
For every gift the Ṛbhus made did bring the gods to greater glory.

What wonder dwelleth in their craft! What marvels spring from their invention!
They took the cow—that gentle beast—and made her yield the finest treasures,
They fashioned forth the golden ornaments that deck the ritual's splendor.

The gods themselves did hunger for the Ṛbhus' work, did crave their skill,
And offered up to them the gift of immortality eternal.
Now they sit in heaven's hall, their labor done, their glory sung forever,
And we do praise them here below, these craftsmen divine and everlasting.

Hail to the Ṛbhus! Hail to their hands of fire and gold!
May they bestow upon us their blessing and their wondrous art.