Thou art the hotṛ, O Agni, the divine priest!
Above all priests thou standest in thy office,
For thou dost speak the words that bind the gods,
That call the Immortals down to the altar.

What priest can claim such honor? What man dare
Presume to stand as thou dost stand between
The realm of gods and realm of mortal men?
Yet thou art humble, thou who art most great.

Thou wearest not the rich and woven garments
That lesser priests do don before the altar.
Thy raiment is the flame itself, most splendid—
A robe of light that none can tear or stain.

Thy voice is softer than the whispered prayer,
Yet louder than the roar of congregations.
For when thou speakest, all the gods do listen,
And bend their heads to hear thy sacred words.

Thou knowest all the rituals and the verses,
The proper ways to make the offerings rise.
No mistake escapes thee, no false motion—
Thy eye is always watching, always keen.

The gods do trust thee as they trust no other.
Indra doth lean upon thy counsel well,
And Varuṇa comes down from his high heaven
To sit beside thy fire and speak with thee.

What mortal priest could ask for such an honor?
To be the mediator, the bridge, the voice
Through which all sacrifice doth find its passage
To those who dwell immortal in the sky?

O Agni, let us honor thee this morning,
We servants of the sacred flame and word.
Accept our praise, O holiest of priests!
And carry our devotion to the gods.