Ten youths, they of sweet song, famed with oblations and hymns — she who goes, the bringer of Rudra's aid.

Aśvins, destroyers of foes, exempt from untruth, leaders in the van of heroes, come to the mixed libations sprinkled on the lopped sacred grass.

Nisatyas, wonder-workers, yours arc these libations with clipt grass: Come ye whose paths are red with flame.