That growing Marut, shining in sight, the son of Rudra, sped with the hymn in sacrifice. From heaven came ardor, pure minds and counsel, the peaks not violent nor hostile.

I worship with oblations that exalted company of the Maruts, the progeny of Rudra, armed with shining lances; the pure and earnest praises of the devout (adorer) are emulous in the invigoration (of the Maruts), as the clouds (vie in the emission of the rain).

That swelling band I call with invocation, the brood of Rudra, armed with glittering lances. Pure hymns are meet for that celestial army: like floods and mountains have the Strong Ones battled.