Their anointing is the same,
the golden chains shine on their arms, their spears sparkle. These
strong, manly, strong-armed Maruts, do not strive among themselves; firm
are the bows, the weapons on your chariot, and on your faces are
splendors. They whose terrible name, wide-spreading like the ocean, is
the one of all that is of use, whose strength is like the vigor of their
father, worship these Maruts, and praise them! Of these shouters, as of
moving spokes, no one is the last; this is theirs by gift, by greatness
is it theirs. Happy is he who was under your protection, O Maruts, in
former mornings, or who may be so even now. Or he, O men, whose
libations you went to enjoy; that mighty one, O shakers, will obtain
your favors with brilliant riches and booty. As the sons of Rudra, the
servants of the divine Dyu, will it, O youths, so shall it be. Whatever
liberal givers may worship the Maruts, and move about together as
generous benefactors, even from them turn towards us with a kinder
heart, you youths! O Sobhari, call loud with your newest song the young,
strong, and pure Maruts, as the plougher calls the cows. Worship the
Maruts with a song, they who are strong like a boxer, called in to
assist those who call for him in all fights; worship them the most
glorious, like bright-shining bulls. Yes, O united friends, kindred, O
Maruts, by a common birth, the oxen lick one another's humps.
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