Hark! What voice is that which crieth through the heavens? What roaring shaketh the foundations of the earth? 'Tis the Maruts! The storm-band approacheth! The sons of Rudra do come forth in their terrible glory!

They ride upon chariots of wind. Their steeds are swift as lightning. Upon their brows do rest the thunderclouds. From their mouths do issue forth the very sounds of thunder and hail. The sky itself doth quail before them. The earth doth shrink in fear.

See how they gleam and shine! Their armor is wrought of gold and burnished silver. Their spears flash like the sun breaking through storm-clouds. Each Marut beareth weapons fashioned in the forge of heaven itself. A thousand warrior-gods ride together, their voices united in a mighty chorus that shaketh all the worlds.

They are beautiful and terrible to behold — terrible in their might, beautiful in their order and purpose. They bring the rain that drinketh the soil and maketh the seed to grow. They bring the wind that disperseth the clouds and cleareth the air. They are both destruction and blessing, curse and benediction.

The Maruts sing! Their song is the howling gale. Their drumming is the roll of thunder. Their dance is the wheeling of the storm. Praise unto them! They guard the realm of heaven and earth. They maintain the cosmic order. They ride forth in service of Rudra and in alliance with Indra the Thunderer. All hail the roaring Maruts!