Agni, thou art the swift messenger of the gods! When we kindle thee upon the altar and pour forth our prayers into thy flame, thou ridest upward through the vault of heaven carrying our words on thy golden tongue. No prayer is too small for thy notice; no petition is too humble for thy care.

Swiftly thou movest through the three worlds — the earth below, the sky above, and the vast spaces between, wherein the gods themselves do dwell. In but a moment, thou carriest the mortal's humble offering to the throne of Indra himself. The distance that would take a man a thousand journeys to traverse, thou coveredest in the time it taketh for ghee to burn.

The gods attend to thy voice as they attend to no other. When Agni speaketh, saying "Thus prayeth thy devotee," the Aśvins harken. The Maruts lean down from their storm-clouds. Indra stretcheth forth his hand. Varuṇa stirreth in the waters. All heaven recognizeth thy authority and honoureth thy embassy.

Yet thou speakest not empty words. Thou carriest the very essence of the offering — the fragrance, the warmth, the sacred intention of the worshipper. When the butter riseth as smoke, it is thyself ascending, thyself bearing witness to the devotion below. Thou art both the message and the messenger, both the prayer and the answer.

O swift one, fly upward for us! Carry our hopes to the halls of immortality! Speak our praises before the assembled gods! Tell them of our faithfulness, our poverty, our desire for blessing. Be our advocate in the courts of heaven! Through thy swift flight, let our voices be heard even in the highest places where mortals can never tread.