Ever murmuring, like waterfowl that call one to another, like the voice of thunder that breaketh from the cloud, and lifting up their joy as waves whose crests stand high as hills, the songs rose up in mighty roar unto Br̥haspati.

With the kine they bellowed, and Br̥haspati of the Aṅgiras came nigh, gathering them as Bhaga guideth Aryaman, and as a hearth-lord blesseth man and wife, so did he bless the Aṅgirases.

Rouse them, O Br̥haspati, like fleet steeds loosed for the prize.

The kine, well-tended, home-bearing, strong of limb, belov’d, fair of hue and flawless of frame—

Br̥haspati led them forth, strewing them from the mountains as grain is flung from bursting sacks.

He cast down honey into the womb of truth, as fire from heaven falleth with the voice of song.

He raised the kine from stone and brake the skin of Earth as one might break soft clay with water’s touch.

With shining might he chased the dark from the mid-air, as wind doth drive the floating weed from water’s face.

When he stroked the womb of Vala as wind doth stir the cloud, he claimed the kine as his rightful own.

When he broke the feeble mocking of Vala with fire-kindled song, he devoured the kine, as tongue with teeth taketh food, and laid bare the hoards of the ruddy-hided wealth.

Br̥haspati called forth the name of those who rang within the sacred seat— a name kept hid.

He clove the womb of the hill as a bird breaketh shell, and drove the red-hued kine aloft by his own hand.

He saw the honey shut within the stone,
like a fish that hideth in shallow tide.
He drew it out as one doth carve a drinking cup from tree— Br̥haspati, who with shattering cry split the mount in twain.

He found the dawn, the sun, the fire;
with song he thrust aside the shade.
From Vala he drew forth the kine, whose beauty was their own, as marrow is drawn from bone’s deep heart.

As woods bewail their leafage taken by the cold, so Vala wept for kine lost unto Br̥haspati.

A deed he wrought none else may match while sun and moon in turn shall rise.

Like a dark steed decked with pearls, the Fathers strewed the sky with stars.
By night they set the shade, by day the gleam.
Br̥haspati broke the stone and found the kine.

This rite of honor have we made for him of the stormful cry, who belloweth still after the many:

Br̥haspati—who shall bestow upon us strength and kine, and steeds and heroes and men of high worth.