Because our soul-born thoughts—the well-loved bands of song— go forth toward them as steeds to a call, let the two wondrous ones lend aid:
Vāyu, lord of the wind-drawn cart, and Pūṣan, strong and sure, in might made ready.

To him belongeth this highness, this fellowship sought with the Wind, and this people here who call him friend.

The poet of vision, in longing, shall strive to win him with hymns well-shaped and praise well-spoken.

He hath marked the songs that ring with worth.

He knoweth the good songs.
Pūṣan the bull, as dew upon grass, droppeth his blessing, sprinkling our dwelling-place with favor.

We would set our mind upon thee, O god Pūṣan, for to us thou art both the one who bringeth forth our thoughts and the one who stirreth the seers to fire.

Sharer of the offering, rider of steeds, seer and warder, he whom Manu long ago ordained
to keep the poet’s way free from hate.

Spouse of the bright one who hath care,
companion to the shining lady, and the shining lord, he who weaveth woolen robes and ever rubbeth them clean— so is he clothed in brightness.

A mighty lord of bounty, a stalwart friend of wealth well-earned, the joyous one hath shaken loose his beard, and shaken it freely, he who may not be beguiled.

Let the goats turn thy yoke, O Pūṣan, and draw thy chariot hence unto us.
Thou art the helper of every striving soul, ancient-born, who shall not be turned away.

Let our cart of prayer be drawn by thy strength, Pūṣan the mighty.

Thou shalt be the bringer of reward.
Thou shalt hear the cry we make.