The Rudras reach the worshipper with their
protection, strong in themselves, they do not fail the sacrificer. For
him to whom the immortal guardians have given fulness of wealth, and who
is himself a giver of oblations, the Maruts, who gladden men with the
milk of rain, pour out, like friends, many clouds. You who have stirred
up the clouds with might, your horses rushed forth, self-guided. All
beings who dwell in houses are afraid of you, your march is brilliant
with your spears thrust forth. When they whose march is terrible have
caused the rocks to tremble, or when the manly Maruts have shaken the
back of heaven, then every lord of the forest fears at your racing, each
shrub flies out of your way, whirling like chariot-wheels. You, O
terrible Maruts, whose ranks are never broken, favorably fulfil our
prayer! Wherever your glory-toothed lightning bites, it crunches cattle,
like a well-aimed bolt. The Maruts whose gifts are firm, whose bounties
are never ceasing, who do not revile, and who are highly praised at the
sacrifices, they sing their song for to drink the sweet juice: they know
the first manly deeds of the hero Indra. The man whom you have guarded,
O Maruts, shield him with hundredfold strongholds from injury and
mischief--the man whom you, O fearful, powerful singers, protect from
reproach in the prosperity of his children. On your chariots, O Maruts,
there are all good things, strong weapons are piled up clashing against
each other.
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