SIT down, O friends, and sing aloud to him who purifies himself: Deck him for glory, like a child, with holy rites.

Unite him bringing household wealth, even as a calf, with mother kine, him who hath double strength, delighting juice.

Purify him who gives us power, that he, most Blessed One. May be A banquet for the Troop, Mitra, and Indra.

Voices have sung aloud to thee as finderout of wealth for us: We clothe the hue thou wearest with a robe of milk.

Thou, indu, art the food of Devas, O Sovran of all gladdening drinks: As Friend for friend, be thou best finder of success.

Drive utterly away from us each demon each voracious fiend, the godless and the false: keep sorrow far away.