As though with songs each bearing its own winding, we choose thee, Agni, to be our Hotar, for this our offering where the sacred grass is laid.
Thou art keen of flame and pure.
In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.

They adorn thee, Agni, those near at hand who reap their gifts in steeds.
The ladle’s pour pursueth thee, and the offering, steadfast in its course, follows after.
In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.

Those who rest upon thee, made firm by thy flame, sit close and pour with their tongues as women do with ladles.

Thou puttest on both black and silver shapes, and every form of beauty.
In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.

Whatsoever wealth thou holdest dear, O Agni— thou mighty, deathless one— bring it hither to us, that we may win the prize, the fair reward laid here at the rite.

In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.

New-born, thou didst uncover every poet’s art, aided by Atharvan the sage.

Thou becamest the herald of Vivasvant, belov’d and longed-for by Yama himself.
In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.

At the rite they call upon thee, O Agni, while the holy work doth go forth.
To the godly man thou givest all he might wish.
In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.

They have made thee priest and dear to all at the feast, O Agni, ghee-bright and blazing, for Manu’s sake, ever watchful with thine eyes.
In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.

With thy flame, O Agni, thou stretchest thyself far and high.
With a roar thou playest the bull, and settest the seed within thy kindred— the green-growing ones of the earth.

In the height of my gladness, I would lift my voice in praise of you, O gods.