WHAT now? When will ye take us by both hands, as a dear sire his son, Devas, for whom sacred grass is clipped?

Now whither? To what goal of yours go ye in Heaven, and not on Earth? Where do your cows disport themselves?

Where are your newest favours shown? Where, Devas, your prosperity? Where all your high felicities?

If, O ye Devas, ye the Sons whom Pṛśni bore, were mortal, and Immortal he who sings your praise.

Then never were your praiser loathed like a wild beast in pasture-land, Nor should he go on Yama's path.

Let not destructive plague on plague hard to be conquered, strike its down: Let each, with drought, depart from us.

Truly, they the fierce and mighty Sons of Soma send their windless Rain e’en on the desert places.

Like a cow the lightning lows and follows, motherlike, her youngling, when their rain-flood hath been loosened.

When they inundate the Earth they spread forth darkness e’en in day time, with the water-laden rain-cloud.

O Devas, at your voice's sound this earthly habitation shakes, and each man reels who dwells therein.

O Devas, with your strong-hoofed steeds, unhindered in their courses, haste Along the bright embanked streams.

Firm be the fellies of your wheels, steady your horses and your cars, an. May your reins be fashioned well.

Invite thou hither with this song, for praise, Agni the Lord of Prayer, him who is fair as Mitra is.

Form in thy mouth the hymn of praise expand thee like, a rainy cloud Sing forth the measured eulogy.

Sing glory to the Marut host, praiseworthy, tuneful, vigorous: Here let the Strong Ones dwell with us.