Come hither, ye Nāsatyas, ye divine horsemen, chieftains of the sky, bearers of wealth and healing.

Ye who, in the swift waters, drew up Bhujyu from the drowning deep, as a father draweth forth his son from the surging wave.

Ye gave the blind Kākṣīvant his sight restored; ye made the aged Cyavāna young again, and set a bride beside the unwedded man.

With honey and with balm ye heal the mortal's wound; ye bring forth marvels that amaze even the gods. Ye are physicians unto all the world.

In the morning hour ye fare through heaven and earth, your chariot swift as thought, drawn by horses white as foam.

Ye know no slumber, ye know no weariness, though age upon age passeth away and the very mountains crumble into dust.

The warrior calls unto you in the hour of battle; the ploughman calls unto you at the sacred pressing. All creatures turn their faces toward the Nāsatyas.

Ye loosed the waters when they were bound; ye burst the cloud that held them pent; ye brought forth light where darkness dwelt, making the dawn to shine.

Hither, O mighty ones, to this altar! The singers lift their voices; the sacrifice burneth bright; the Soma floweth forth, pressed sweet and foaming for your draught.

Let your chariot turn toward us; let your eyes behold the smoke ascending. Come ye to this rite, O Aśvins, and drink of the oblation we have made.

In ages past, when the earth and heaven were first born, ye heard the cry of the afflicted and came swiftly to their aid.

So now, in this hour, hear ye our prayer! Come swift as wind, come swift as the hawk in flight. Answer the hymn that the faithful singer raiseth up unto you.

Ye bring the dawn that drippeth with honey; ye bring the dew that falleth upon the thirsty ground. Your chariot ever moveth through the three worlds—the realm of earth below, the realm of heaven above, and the bright air between.

Ye are the first to see the sun when he riseth from his bed; ye are the last to mark his setting in the western deep.

Your hands are swift to heal, your hearts are quick to pity. Ye dwell forever in the glory that knoweth no end; yet ye turnest toward the mortal in his hour of need.

The rich man calleth on you that his wealth may multiply; the poor man calleth on you for deliverance from hunger; the sick man calleth on you in his fever and his pain.

Ye answer all, ye refuse none, ye turnest not away from the humblest prayer that riseth from a faithful heart.

Come then, ye twin-horded, ye golden-armoured, ye swift beyond telling! Drink ye the Soma and take your portion of the glory; and bestow upon us blessing that shall endure—horses strong of limb, kine fertile and abundant, riches beyond measure.

Grant us thy favour, O Aśvins; grant us thy protection. Let no harm come nigh unto us; let no sickness strike us down; let no enemy prevail against us.

As the sun guardeth all the world with his bright rays, so do ye guard the faithful. As the earth beareth all creatures upon her breast, so do ye sustain those who honour you with hymn and prayer.

The sacred day breaketh; the fires are kindled; the oblation burneth. All things are ready for thy coming, O Nāsatyas. Come now, come swift, come swift!

For such is thy nature—ever to aid, ever to heal, ever to bring forth marvels. Ye shall come, for ye have never failed those who called upon you truly.

Thus doth the singer praise the Nāsatyas, the divine twin-horsemen, the physicians of the gods and men. Let their names be honoured! Let their deeds be remembered! Let their glory fill the hearts of all who hear their praise.