Sing praise to the Maruts, the mighty sons of Rudra! Sing praise to the troop of warriors wild and fierce! They ride in chariots wrought of gold and glittering; they wear the breastplates bright with shining metal. The anklets on their limbs do sound in thunder; the lightning leaps from spear to spear among them.

Born of Pṛśni, the spotted cloud of heaven, the Maruts are arrayed for battle's glory. Swift-moving in their chariots of wonder, they shake the mountains with their mighty passing. The sky doth quake when they come forth to battle; the earth doth tremble at the sound of their approach. Golden are all their ornaments and weapons; like lions roaring, so they cry aloud.

O Maruts, come unto the pressing of the Soma! Come ye unto the feast of sacred offering! The juice doth flow in golden bowls awaiting; the butter burneth in the flame ascending. Come with your shining forms and bright appearance; come with your gifts of rain upon the earth.

The singers call upon you, mighty Maruts; the priests do invoke you with uplifted voice. Bring down the waters from the high-held heaven; let forth the rains upon the thirsting earth. The cattle cry for drink; the fields do parch; the sun doth scorch the grass with burning fury. Come ye with waters sweet and cool and blessed!

Ten in number are you, or twenty-seven—O powerful troop of Rudra's valiant sons! The strong and dreadful warriors, decked with splendor, wearing golden mail and circlets bright. Your spears are arrows of the swift-striking lightning; your voices shake the mountains and the plains.

Like the wind in fury dost thou move, O Maruts! Like the gale that bendeth down the forest! The clouds do gather at your fierce approaching; the thunder roareth forth at your command. The lightning leapeth bright from cloud to cloud; the rain descendeth in a torrent's fury.

With you, O Maruts, doth the storm come raging; the whirlwind rises at your mighty bidding. The trees do bow; the beasts do flee in terror; the birds do scatter at the blast of your coming. Yet through this terror cometh life and blessing—for ye bring the waters that sustain all things.

You are the friend of every mortal dwelling; you are the protectors of the fields and herds. When drought doth parch the earth and threaten famine, the farmers lift their voices unto you. And ye do hear their prayer and bring the showers; the waters flow, the green doth spring again.

O Maruts, grant us strength and fierce protection! Grant us the courage of the warrior bold! In battle shall we call upon your power; in danger shall we cry unto your name. Give us the might to overcome our foemen; give us the wisdom for the fight's decision.

The golden light that shineth on your bodies doth shine upon the world below as glory. Your chariot wheels do roll across the heavens; your speed surpasseth all the winds and tempests. No foe may stand before you in the contest; no demon doth withstand your dreadful power.

O Maruts, ye who dwell in highest heaven, who ride upon the paths of wind and thunder! The singers praise you with unwearying voices; the priests do make the offering in your honor. Accept the Soma that we press and offer; receive the butter and the grain laid forth.

Grant us prosperity, O fierce-armed Maruts! Grant us the victory whenever we do battle. Be ye our wall and fortress in the struggle; be ye our shield against the darts of foemen. So shall we praise you ever without ceasing; so shall your glory sound throughout the ages.