Dense with hosts, the robber-foe Jambha burns; he who struck at us with mortal might is crushed. The man who cherishes killing is not ours—he is routed and driven from the fortress.

Agni, with the burning rays, destroy entirely our foes, who make no gifts, as (potter's ware) with a club; let not one who is inimical to us, nor the man who attacks us with sharp weapons, prevail against us.

Smite down as with a club, thou who hast fire for teeth, smite thou the wicked, right and left. Let not the man who plots against us in the night, nor any foe prevail o'er us.