O Steed, it is said that Surya is your loftiest generator. Three bonds are said to be there in heaven to bind you. Three in the waters and three in the atmosphere, O Courser of the loftiest birth.

O Courser, here I see the places where they groomed you, I behold here the prints of your winning hooves. Here are the auspicious reins that guide you. They guard you who protect this sacred rite.

O Steed, I recognized your soul from distance, a Bird soaring up from below. I saw your head soaring, striving upward by paths untouched by dust and pleasant to travel.

I behold here your beautiful, matchless form, eager to win the foe and the food produced from the earth. Whenever one brings you fodder, you swallow the herbs. O you most voracious eater!

O Steed, the car follows you, the bridegroom follows you and the fortune of maidens comes after you. The people in groups follow you seeking your friendship, the gods dwell upon your pattern of strength.

Lustrous and golden are his horns, his feet are of iron. Even thought swift Indra is less fleet than he. Gods came only to Indra’s sacrifice who first of all rode the Steed.

Thin bellied, symmetrical, with rounded haunches, mighty of strength, the divine Steeds of Surya’s chariot put forth their mettle like flying swans when they obtained the heavenly pathways.

O Courser, your body is formed for flight, your spirit is swift like the wind, your horns are spread wide on all sides, they move restlessly like wild fire.

The fleet and dexterous Steed has come forth for sacrifice, with a contemplative mind. He follows a goat, his kin, and the sages and the poets follow after.

He is come to the noblest abode, is come to his Parents. Today he shall reach the gods, most welcome. He bestows best gifts on liberal givers and sacrificers.

Agni, who preceded gods, prepared the sacrifice as soon as he was born. May the gods enjoy our oblations made sacred according to the law and guidance of the priest.

O men, giving light where no light was, and form where no form was, Agni was born together with the Dawns.

Then a warrior goes to battle with his mail on, he looks like thunderous rain-cloud. O hero, be you victorious with unharmed body. May the protection of your armour guard you.

The bow-string, close to the bow’s ear, fain to speak whispers like a woman holding her beloved in her close enbrace, this bow-string that preserves us in the battle.

The bow and its string meeting together like a woman and her husband bear like parents upon their bosom the arrow, their son. May the two bow-ends in accord scatter asunder swiftly the foemen we hate.