O Agni, thou hidden god! Concealed in the waters yet unquenched. Hidden in the plant yet ever burning. Dwelling within the stone yet eternal. Thou art everywhere and nowhere at once. Mortals see thee not in thy true form, yet thou art the life in all that liveth.

In the ocean deeps thou dwellest, and the waters know thee. The sea-god Varuṇa guardeth thee in his palace. Yet no wave can drown thy fire. No depth can extinguish thy flame. Thou art the secret warmth that maketh the waters dance. Thou art the life-breath of every creature born from the womb of the sea.

In the grass and the grain thou hidest thy glory. In the roots of the tree, in the seed that is cast, in the leaf that unfoldeth toward the sun—there thou burnest in secret. The plant knoweth thee not by name, yet it riseth toward the sky because thou pushest it upward with thy hidden fire.

In the mountain stone thou sleepest. For ages thou hast dwelt within the rock, and none hath discovered thee. The stone is hard and cold to touch, yet within it burneth the immortal flame. When the sage striketh two stones together, a spark leapeth forth—the secret revealed, the god brought forth from his long concealment.

O Agni, why hidest thou thyself? Why dwellest thou in such darkness? The answer is: So that all things might contain the divine. So that every creature beareth thee within itself. So that the humble man and the mighty king both carry thee in their bodies without knowing. Thou art the secret fire at the heart of all being. When a man loveth, thou art his burning. When he striveth for the right, thou art his heat. O hidden god! Make thyself known to us. Let us feel thy warmth. Let us kindle thee in our own hearts.