The offering, which is stretched forth on all sides by its warp-threads, and spread wide through a hundred and one deeds of the gods—

'tis the fathers, journeying hither, who weave this web.
At the loom they sit, crying, “Weave ye onward, weave ye back.” A man lays out the warp and lifts it with the heddles; a man hath stretched it across the roof of heaven itself.

Here be their pegs—there sat they in their appointed seats, and made of the sāman their shuttles for weaving the work.

What was its shape? What likeness bore it?
What bound it one to another? What served for ghee, and what for frame?
What meter stood for measure? What was the first cry, the hymn begun— when all the gods gave up the god into the fire?

The gāyatrī was yokefellow to Agni;
Savitar was bound with the uṣṇihā's thread; Soma took hold of the anuṣṭubh, and waxed in might through song; the br̥hatī gave tongue to the speech of Bṛhaspati.

The virāj is the bright crown of Mitra and Varuṇa; the triṣṭubh is Indra’s rightful share of day.

The jagatī passed into the All-Gods’ hands.
So the seers, sons of Manu, set all in order.