How shall we muse? Which god shall we lift up in name—whose name is meet for musing—as they hearken unto my cry?
Who shall show mercy? Who shall grant us joy? Who shall turn this way with help in hand?

Our thoughts lean wholly unto them—the stirrings of our hearts. Our seekers tread their path and fly to all bounds.
No bestower of grace is found beyond them. My longing is fast-bound unto the gods.

Shall it be Narashamsa, or Pusan, or Agohya who may not be hid, or Agni kindled by the hand of the gods?
Shall it be Sun and Moon, the newborn and the full-bright moon, Yama on high, or Trita, Wind, Dawn, Night, the twin Ashvins?

By what lay, with what well-twined word, shall the mighty-voiced Br̥haspati wax strong?
Let Aja Ekapad, and the singers who are ready at call, let Ahi Budhnya incline their ear unto me.

Or thou, O Aditi, at the birthing of the cunning fire beneath thy rule—wilt thou draw hither the twin kings, Mitra and Varuna?
Or Aryaman, who passeth not from the path, lord of many chariots, holder of the seven Hotars, he who cometh in many shapes?

Let the steeds who know the call answer our cry—all who win the prize with their measured step, they who win thousands even as one might win wisdom, they who have mightily borne away spoil from the strife.

Bring forth with thy praise Vayu, who yokes the wain, and Plenitude, and Pusan for fellowship; for at the bidding of Savitar they go—one in will with him who is of one will with them.

We call upon the three times seven rivers, the great waters, the trees, the mountains, and Agni— and the bowmen at their post—Kr̥śanu, Tiṣya the Star-Hound, and Rudra, fiercest of the Rudras.

Sarasvati, Sarayu, Sindhu with wave on wave—may the mighty strengtheners come hither in strength; the holy waters, the sweet-flowing mothers. Let them pour out their milk, rich in ghee and honey, for us.

And let the mother Br̥haddiva hearken unto our words, and Tvashtar with his heavenly kin—the God-Wives, the Father, R̥bhukshan, Vaja the Chariot-Lord, and Bhaga. Let the fair song of the toiler shield us—

Fair as a home in peace, full of meat and cheer.
Blessèd is the worshipful song of the Rudras, the Maruts.
May we shine among the folk for our kine; may refreshment walk with us always, ye gods.

The insight ye granted me—ye Maruts, Indra, Varuna, Mitra— let it grow fat like a cow full of milk. Surely ye will bear our hymns upon thy wains?

Surely in some wise ye will regard our common birth, O Maruts?
At the navel-place where first we joined, there let Aditi fix our kin-bond fast.

For Heaven and Earth, those two great mothers, goddesses meet for the rite, walk by right of their godly kin.
They uphold both broods—of god and man—and with the Fathers they pour forth abundant seed.

Hotra, the pouring, reacheth all things of worth—as doth Br̥haspati and Aramati, wondrous fair in will.
Where the honey-press sings high its voice, the seers cry out with thundering thought.

Even so the loud-souled poet, knowing the right, seeking good, yearning for bounty, the rapt Gaya, with his hymns and songs, hath swelled the race of the gods.

Even so the son of Plati, wise in soul, hath made you mighty—ye Adityas, and Aditi as well.
The high-born, the heaven-wise, the godly race, hath been uplifted by Gaya the Deathless.