Come, O ye Aśvins! Swift as thought do ye descend from out the heavens with your chariot drawn by noble steeds. Bring unto us the treasure, bright with gold; bring forth the bounty that shall make us rich and strong. Come to the soma and be satisfied.

O ye Nāsatyas, ye whose fame doth spread so far, whose chariot rolleth onward o'er the earth and sky—accept this offering, freshly pressed by sacred hands; delight yourselves in our pressed juice of soma, sweet as honey.

Ye are the healers, O ye twin lords of the dawn, who bring the balm and medicine to those in pain. With treasure laden do your swift horses draw the car; come hither now and let your favour rest on us.

The fires burn bright; the priests await your coming here; the soma foameth in its sacred wooden bowl. Come, O ye Aśvins, swiftest of the gods—come to the draught and to the song that praisers raise.

Ye bring the dawn when darkness flees before your car; ye bring the light that shineth upon all the world. O twin deities, belovèd of the sky—accept our offerings and grant us all that we desire.

Let thy blessings, O ye Aśvins, ever rest upon the singer who invoketh thee with voice and sacred verse. Grant us abundance, grant us health, grant us long life, that we may praise your name forevermore.