THE robes which ye put on abound with fatness: uninterrupted courses are your counsels. All falsehood, Mitra-Varuṇa! ye conquer, and closely cleave unto the Law Eternal.
This might of theirs hath no one comprehended. True is the crushing word the sage hath uttered, The fearful four-edged bolt smites down the three-edged, and those who hate the Gods first fall and perish.
The Footless Maid precedeth footed creatures. Who marketh, Mitra-Varuṇa, this your doing? The Babe Unborn supporteth this world's burthen, fulfilleth Law and overcometh falsehood.
We look on him the darling of the Maidens, always advancing, never falling downward, Wearing inseparable, wide-spread raiment, Mitra's and Varuṇa's delightful glory.
Unbridled Courser, born but not of horses, neighing he flieth on with back uplifted. The youthful love mystery thought-surpassing, praising in Mitra-Varuṇa, its glory.
May the milch-kine who favour Māmateya prosper in this world him who loves devotion. May he, well skilled in rites, be food, and calling Aditi with his lips give us assistance.
Gods, Mitra-Varuṇa, with love and worship, let me make you delight in this oblation. May our prayer be victorious in battles, may we have rain from heaven to make us prosper.
