The sea is but one, the deep ground of wealth, yet he—born again and again—looketh forth from within us, out of our heart.
He draweth nigh to the udder that lieth in the lap of the hidden two.
The path of the bird is laid in the midst of the springing well.

Clad in one dwelling, the bold buffaloes, strong as bulls, are joined with the mares in harmony.

The wise seers guard the track of truth; they have hidden the highest names away.

The twain who bear both truth and craft have drawn together.
They gave him his measure and brought forth the babe, who waxed great— he that is the navel of all things, the moving and the still.
With their thoughts, they follow the thread the poet spins.

For the paths of truth cleave to the noble-born, and olden gifts of refreshment flow to him for the prize.

The two world-halves, wrapped in their mantle, have anointed their own with ghee and honeyed meats.

Crying aloud, the knower hath raised up the seven ruddy sisters from the honey to be beheld.

He held them fast—those born of old—in the space between.
Seeking a covering, he found the cloak of Pūṣan.

The wise singers have shaped seven bounds, yet only to one hath the narrow way led.

The pillar standeth firm on its root in the resting-place of the high-born Āyu, where all ways come to an end.

Yea, both being and unbeing are in the loftiest heaven, at the birth-place of skill in the lap of Aditi.

Agni is to us the first-born of truth—
a bull and a milk-giver in the days that came before.