Born again! O Agni, born anew!
Each dawn thou risest from the kindling wood,
As though no night hath ever dimmed thy radiance,
As though the dark had never touched thy form.

The sacred sticks do bear thee in their womb,
The friction of the drill doth give thee birth.
Thou emergest perfect, terrible, and golden—
The infant god who shineth like the sun.

Who knoweth thy beginning or thy ending?
For thou art both the ancient and the new.
With every dawn thou art begotten freshly,
Yet in thy heart the memory of all fires.

The mortals lift their hands to greet thy rising,
The priests cry out: "O Agni, thou hast come!"
For in thy blazing thou art life itself,
The heat that giveth being to all things.

Thou eatest the dry wood and makest it thy glory,
Transforming dross to light before our eyes.
What hideth not from thee? What can resist thee?
Thou penetratest all, thou showest all.

The mountains know thee, and the waters fear thee,
The winds do scatter what remains of thee.
Yet ever thou returnest in thy splendor,
Born fresh from friction, born from prayer and care.

O Agni, kindle in each heart this morning
The same bright flame that burneth in the sky!
Let us be born with thee in every sunrise,
Made new and pure and radiant as thee.

For blessed is the man who rises with thee,
Who greeteth the new day with open hands.
He shall not stumble, he shall not fear darkness—
The kindler of the dawn shall guard his path.