O Agni, this song-weaver draweth nigh to dwell in thee, for no truer friendship is found elsewhere, O Son of Strength— thy shelter is a blessed one, a shield thrice-fold. Turn thou aside the wounding shaft; cast it afar.

Thy birth, O Agni, is as a headlong rush, in thine hunger for feed.
Thou fallest upon all creatures in one sweeping motion.
Our bands, our seeing thoughts shall take the lead— they go before, as herdsmen stray, needing no guide.

Lo, thou curlest round and lashest at the thick brush, O flame with will thine own, and barren lie the fields behind thee. Let us stir not thy wrath, nor draw upon us thy burning hand.

To the heights and the hollows thou runnest, snapping and flaring, in every path, as warriors chasing spoil.

When the wind doth kiss thy flame, thou scarest the earth bare, as the shaver trimeth the beard.

A host standeth against thee—many wains in a single plummet path— yet thou, O Agni, ever plying thy twin limbs, goest low along the upreaching land.

Raise thy blasts; let thy beam be lifted. Let thy gifts, O Agni, be for him who toilèth in thy name.

Arch high, bow low, grow great and bold.
Let all the Vasus wait upon thee this day.

Here falleth the waters, here sinketh the sea.
Choose thee a fresh way from this same path; go forth as thou wilt.

On thy going hither and thy going hence, let dūrvā bloom and ponds swell, and lotuses open.

Here lieth the house of the sea.