Sing praise to the weapons of war! Sing glory to the implements of battle! The bow, the arrow, the spear, the sword — these are the true priests of the warrior's path. Through them floweth the sacred fire of courage and righteous action.

O bow, thou mighty stave of ash and horn! Thou dost give flight to the arrow with such force that it pierceth armor and cloth alike. In the hands of the warrior who hath trained long and devotedly, thou art as the scepter of a king. Thou speakest with a voice louder than thunder; thou achieveth deeds mightier than mountains. We honor thee and praise thy terrible power.

O arrows, swift messengers of death and victory! Ye fly forth like birds released from a cage, streaking through the air with purpose and precision. Ye know not hesitation; ye know not doubt. Once loosed, ye complete your journey to the target with absolute certainty. In the great battles, ye have turned the tide of war. Ye have protected the righteous and laid low the wicked. We sing thy praise, O pointed ones, thou instruments of the warrior's will.

O sword, blade of sharpened steel! Thou art the extension of the warrior's arm, the embodiment of his resolve. In the thick of battle, when the two forces press together in terrible closeness, thou art the instrument of victory. Thy edge is as keen as the gaze of the gods; thy thrust is as swift as lightning. Many are the foes who have fallen before thy gleaming point. Yet thou askest not questions — thou followest the will of the one who beareth thee.

O spear, long-shafted lance of the warrior! Thou stretchest forth like a serpent uncoiling, striking from distance that the sword cannot reach. In the hands of the trained warrior, thou art as a living thing, dancing and thrusting with terrifying grace. The phalanx bristles with thee, and the enemy trembles at the sight of thy countless points leveled toward them.

O armor of bronze and leather! Thou art the protector, the shield against the weapons of the foe. Thou art the barrier that standeth between the warrior and death. Many arrows have spent their force upon thee; many blows have been turned aside by thy strength. The warrior trusteth in thee even as he trusteth in his own courage. Without thee, he would be naked and defenseless. With thee, he is as a fortress moving into battle.

O shield, mighty circle of protection! Thou art borne upon the arm of the warrior, presenting a wall against the onslaught of enemies. Behind thee doth the warrior take his stand, knowing that his shield will turn aside what his armor cannot. The shields locked together form an impenetrable wall; the shields raised together form a roof against the rain of arrows. We honor thy steadfast strength and thy faithful protection.

These are the sacred tools of war, the implements through which righteousness is enforced and the forces of chaos are repelled. They are not evil, though evil men may use them for wicked purposes. In the hands of the righteous warrior, they are as the tools of the gods themselves.

The warrior who beareth these weapons with proper intent, who handleth them with skill born of endless practice, who useth them in service to ṛta and to the protection of the innocent — such a warrior is as a priest of the highest order. His sacrifice is the sacrifice of battle; his offering is the offering of courage.

We praise all the weapons of war together. We praise the bow and arrow, the spear and sword, the armor and shield. Through you doth might triumph over weakness; through you doth order triumph over chaos; through you doth righteousness triumph over falsehood.

Grant us, we beseech you, the strength to wield you justly. Grant us the skill to use you truly. Grant us the wisdom to know when to draw you and when to sheathe you. And grant us the courage to stand as warriors in defense of all that is sacred and good.

O weapons of war, accept our hymn and guard us ever.