The one whom we sought with our hearts, lo—he is come, knowing well the holy rite, he heedeth its measure and speech.

He shall perform the offering for us midst the gathering of the gods, a priest above priests, for he shall sit beside us, foremost and near.

He is known now as the Fire-Priest, the loftier sacrificer, by his setting apart.
He keepeth watch o’er the fair-laid feast of delight.
To the gods who are worthy of worship shall we offer, yea, with ghee shall we honor the hon'rable in reverent wise.

He hath made our seeking of the gods to bear fruit this day.
Hidden was the tongue of the rite, and he hath found it.
Fragrant he comes, clad in the garment of life, and hath made our god-calling blessed this very morn.

Might I, said Agni, this day forge the foremost of speech, by which we, the gods, shall o’erthrow the demon-hosts.

Ye eaters of offering, ye who are meet for the rite, ye five tribes—rejoice in my priesthood.

Let the five tribes take joy in my charge at the altar, as well as the kine-born, and they who are meet for the gods.

Let Earth ward us from the weight of the world; let the Midspace shield us from heav'n’s own yoke.

Stretch now the thread of the rite, O Fire, and follow the gleam of the airy heights.

Guard thou the light-ways shaped by seers' minds.
Weave ye the work smooth and knotless, O praisers ever.
Be thou as Manu, O Flame—bring forth the god-born kin.

Fasten the yoke-leathers, ye drink-fellows, set ye the reins aright and deck the cart with glory.

Drive the eight-seated chariot far and wide, that selfsame cart wherein the gods once brought us what is beloved.

The stony flood doth rush—gather your strength! Arise!
Go forth, O friends!
Let us forsake those who loved us not.
May we cross over and climb to the kin of welcome, to rich reward.

Tvaṣṭar knew his craft, a wright of all wrights, bearing the cups, the gods’ own vessels for drink.

Now he whetteth the keen-edged axe of good steel, wherewith Brahmaṇaspati, that stallion of the word, shall hew.

Now, O bards, whet the blades at hand, those axes that cleave for the deathless ones.
With wisdom carve hidden ways, as the gods once found the path to everlasting life.

They have laid the maiden in the womb of flame, set the calf in his mouth, with mind and speech veiled in riddle.

He, ever kindly, full of yearning to win, draws tight the yoke-cords and winneth the day at the hour of fate.