Poust down the rain upon us, pour a wave of waters from the sky,
And plenteous store of wholesome fbod.

Flow onward with that stream of thine, whereby the cows have come to us,
The kine of strangers to our home.

Chief Friend of Gods in sacred rites, pour on us fatness with thy stream,
Ppur down on us a flood of rain.

To give us vigour, with thy stream run through the fleecy straining-cloth
For verily the Gods will bear.

Onward hath Pavamana flowed and beaten off the Rākṣasas,
Flashing out splendour as of old.