We call upon the Maruts, the storm gods mighty and swift!
The children of Rudra, the companions of Indra in every battle!
Come forth with your thunder; come forth with your lightning and your rain.
Ye riders of the tempest; ye breakers of the clouds; hear our prayer!

The Maruts do ride through the sky with armor bright as molten gold.
Their hair doth stream behind them like the wind that roareth through the trees.
They shout in voices terrible; the very heavens shake and quake.
When they pass over, the earth doth tremble; the mountains bow before them.

The lightning that doth flash and crack is the weapon of the Maruts bright.
The thunder that doth roll and boom is their voice calling unto mortals.
The rain that falleth from the clouds doth nourish all the crops below.
Without the Maruts' violent storm, the world would wither up and die.

Ye are the brothers of the wind; ye dance upon the wings of gale.
Ye are the wielders of the storm; ye masters of the raging tempest.
No enemy can stand against you; no foe can withstand your wrath.
Yet to the righteous man who calls, ye are as kindly guardians.

The Maruts ride in companies, hundreds strong or even more.
Each one beareth lightning-spears; each one rideth upon wind.
They follow where Indra leadeth them in his conquering campaigns.
Together they do crush the demon; together they protect the world.

When drought doth threaten all the land, we call upon the Maruts' aid.
Come now with thy precious rain; refresh the weary, thirsty earth.
Come now with thy wind and storm; bring life-giving moisture from the sky.
O Maruts fierce and mighty, hear us, and grant us thy blessing.