O Maruts, mighty brothers, sons of Rudra most ferocious and supreme!
Ye are companions of the Thunderer; ye dance with Indra in the sky.
Your father is the terrible lord who holdeth in his hands disease and death.
Yet ye are gentler than your sire; ye bring both terror and relief.

Rudra is the wild god of the mountains; he is the archer armed with plague.
The creatures flee before his wrath; the very gods do bow to him in fear.
But thou, O Maruts, have his strength yet dost thou use it differently.
Ye bring the rain that giveth life; ye bring the wind that cleanseth all.

As brothers of Indra, ye do aid him in his battle 'gainst the demon host.
When he doth sound his battle-cry, ye come with lightning spears in hand.
Together ye do conquer all the enemies of the righteous and the good.
No Dāsa, no demon, no evil creature can withstand your combined might.

The seven Maruts—or are ye more?—none truly knoweth how many ye are.
Each one is brave and bold and strong; each one doth dance upon the wind.
Ye march together in formation, a host that none can count or measure.
When ye do pass over, the very earth doth crack beneath thy feet.

Ye are the warriors of the gods; ye are the soldiers of the sky.
No mortal army can compare unto your numbers and your might.
Yet ye are just; ye smite the wicked; ye protect the righteous folk.
O Maruts, ye are terrible and beautiful together.

We sing your praise with grateful hearts; we offer you our finest gifts.
Accept the butter poured upon the fire; accept the Soma that we press.
Guard us from the anger of your father; protect us from the pestilence.
O Maruts fierce and mighty, grant us peace and prosperity forever.