Agni, thou sharp-tongued drinker of the soma! Thy tongues taste the sweetness of the offering; thy flames lick upward toward the sky. With each taste, thou art strengthened; with each draught, thy power increaseth.

The priests arrange the offering upon thy altar. The butter is poured; the grain is scattered; the soma is pressed and presented. Thy tongues dart forth, red and gold, reaching for each morsel. Thy hunger is insatiable; thy appetite is mighty.

Yet thy hunger is not merely for food, O Agni. Thou hungerest for the devotion that lieth behind the offering. Thou dost taste not merely the butter but the love with which it was made. Thou dost drink not merely the soma but the faith of the worshipper.

The poor widow who brings her handful of grain honoreth thee more greatly than the wealthy king who brings his treasured store, if her heart is pure. The humble prayer that springeth from a faithful heart is sweeter to thee than the elaborate ritual performed by one whose mind is elsewhere.

Thy tongues are many, O all-consuming one! Some are red like the glow of dawn; some are gold like sunlight upon water; some are blue like the very heart of the flame. Each tongue hath its own flavor; each possesseth its own burning intensity.

We watch as thy flames dance and leap. We hear the crackle and hiss as thou consumest the offering. We see the smoke rise upward, carrying our prayers toward the heavens. In this moment, we know that the gods are hearing us; we know that they are pleased.

The offering is consumed; the ceremony is complete. Yet thy hunger remaineth. Each day we shall kindle thee anew; each day we shall bring thee fresh offerings. This is the covenant between mortals and gods—we give unto thee; thou givest unto us. The cycle continueth, unbroken and eternal.

Come, O Agni! Taste our offering! Be satisfied! Accept our devotion! In return, grant us health, grant us strength, grant us the blessings that we seek!