With reverence I yoke for you twain the holy word of old.
Let the cry of the rite’s patron go forth far—like a path it goeth.
Let all the sons of the deathless—ye who dwell in the starry halls— hearken to the call.

When ye came, side by side like twin-born powers, the children of Manu, seeking the gods, did bring you forth.

Sit ye now upon your broad and rightful place, as is your wont.
Be ye goodly thrones for the drops we pour.

I have gone up the five steps of the mount, and I follow the four-footed way as bidden.

With but a breath, I fashion its twin;
and on the navel of truth I cleanse it through and through.

For the love of the gods he chose death, yet for the sake of sons he turned not to deathlessness.

The gods made Br̥haspati, the seer, into their very offering.
Yama gave up his own dear flesh, and left it as his seed.

The seven rivers run for the child who rideth with the storm-lords.
For their sire have the sons made truth their kin.
The twin wains bear it—of both kinds they rule.
They take their place, and feast upon the one that is of both.