|
1. SING to the
troop that pours down rain in common, the Mighty Company of celestial nature.
They make the world-halves
tremble with their greatness: from depths of earth and sky they reach to
heaven.
2 Yea, your
birth, Maruts, was with wild commotion, ye who move swiftly, fierce in wrath,
terrific.
Ye all-surpassing in your might
and vigour, each looker on the light fears at your coming.
3 Give ample
vital power unto our princes let our fair praises gratify the Maruts.
As the way travelled helpeth
people onward, so further us with your delightful succours.
4 Your
favoured singer counts his wealth by hundreds: the strong steed whom ye favour
wins a thousand.
The Sovran whom ye aid destroys
the foeman. May this your gift, ye Shakers, be distinguished.
5 I call, as
such, the Sons of bounteous Rudra: will not the Maruts turn again to us-ward?
What secret sin or open stirs
their anger, that we implore the Swift Ones to forgive us.
6 This eulogy
of the Bounteous hath been spoken: accept, ye Maruts, this our hymn of praises.
Ye Bulls, keep those who hate
us at a distance. Preserve us evermore, ye Gods, with blessings.
|