Drive hither borne on thy longing; the kine do follow thy path, their udders spent with milk, they tread where thou hast gone.

Drive hither with clear sight, thou most giving of all, with thy fellows rich in gifts. Thou rousest the generous and bringest the strivers to their elder’s fate.

Even as those who bring meat, we come bearing gifts, and stretch forth the thread of the rite—let us make the offering.

Lo, Dawn rolleth back the dark of her sister Night, gathering her path like thread on a spindle, for she is well-born and fresh to the world.