Through your kind favour, Gods, on some auspicious day, the worshipper subdues his foes. That man increases home and strengthening ample food who brings you offerings as ye list.
Your succour in the battle injures not the man to whom ye, Heroes, grant your gifts. May your most recent favour turn to us again. Come quickly, ye who fain would drink.
Come hitherward to drink the juice, O ye whose bounties give you joy. These offerings are for you, these, Maruts, I present. Go not to any place but this.
Sit on our sacred grass, be graciously inclined to give the wealth for which we long, To take delight, ye Maruts, Friends of all, with Svāhā, in sweet Soma juice.
Decking the beauty of their forms in secret the Swans with purple backs have flown down hither. Around me all the Company hath settled, like joyous Heroes glad in our libation.
Maruts, the man whose wrath is hard to master, he who would slay us ere we think, O Vasus, May he be tangled in the toils of mischief; smite ye him down with your most flaming weapon.