This prize-won by godspeed, he who overtaketh the chariot-host, whose wheel’s rim none may break, the fleet one who driveth unto war—
we call on Tārkṣya to come hither for our well-being.

We call again and again on his open hand, as one calleth upon Indra; we would board him as men board a boat, that he may bear us to good.

Ye twain, broad as the two wide worlds, full and deep— let no harm befall us from you, neither in our coming nor our going.

He who in one single day stretcheth himself over the five tribes by his great strength, as the sun spreadeth his beams over the waters— his is the charge that bringeth home thousands, yea, hundreds.
None may stay him, no more than they might stay a young arrow in flight.