I have beheld the greatness of him—the mighty one— the deathless midst the tribes of men.

His jaws, they open wide, then close again, ever craving, ever biting, ever fed.

He devoureth much and is not filled.

His head is laid in secret; his eyes are set apart.
Ever hungry, he eateth wood with his tongue.
With feet they gather his meat for him,
their hands stretched forth in holy awe amidst the folk.

Like a babe that seeketh the hidden breast of his mother, he slippeth through the broad-leaved green.

He was found, shining as grain when full-grown, licking within the bosom of the hill.

Hear me, ye twain that frame the world—I cry this truth:
Whilst he is born, he eateth his twin mothers.
Though I am flesh and see not the god, yet Agni seeth from afar, and seeth what is to come.

Whoso setteth dry fare before him, whoso poureth the offering of melted butter and ghee to feed him well, such a man thou lookest upon from afar, Agni, with thy thousand watchful eyes.
Thou turnest thy face to every quarter.

What wrong, by deed or by neglect, hast thou wrought before the gods?
This I ask of thee now, O Agni, for I know it not.
Whether in play or in rest, still must the tawny one feed— though toothless he be.

Thou hast hewn the wood bit by bit, as a knife divideth the ox at each joint.

Born within the wood, he hath yoked his own steeds, who look every way, held in check by reins drawn straight.

Our noble ally hath carved the meal with the good gods beside him.
He hath joined himself in fullness again, and waxed in might.