Born thou art from the two fire-sticks rubbed together in darkness! Hidden in the wood like a god in hiding, thou sleepest until the friction wakes thee. Then thou leapest forth, invisible, yet shining. The mystery of thy birth none comprehend. The gods themselves were amazed when first thou springest from the kindling.

Where dwellest thou before the sticks are struck? In the plant? In the stone? In the sky above? None knoweth. Thou art everywhere and nowhere. Thou art younger than the morning, yet older than time itself. The very first priests did not create thee—they only called thee forth from thy long sleep.

O hidden fire! Thou art in the bamboo, in the bamboo's heart. When the sage rubs stick against stick, thou answerest. The friction is but the cry that summons thee from thy secret dwelling. And thou comest, O Agni, swiftly as a lover to his beloved. The wood trembles at thy touch. The smoke is thy breath, sweet and ascending.

In the waters thou hidest also. Not visible, yet burning. In the plants thou dwellest. In the stone thou waitest. In every creature's body the sacred fire burneth, though none see it. Only the wise man knoweth that Agni is all-pervading, that the whole world is aflame with the hidden god.

O Agni, thou mystery! Thou terrible secret! When the sticks are rubbed, thou art called forth from the void. When the offering is made, thou descendest from thy high throne to consume it. Thou goest between the worlds, carrying the prayers of men to the immortal gods. Without thee, there would be no sacrifice. Without thee, no covenant between heaven and earth.