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4 Self−yoked they have descended lightly from the sky. With your own lash, Immortals, urge yourselve's 5 Who among you, O Maruts armed with lightning−spears, moveth you by himself, as with the tongue his 6 Say where, then, is this mighty region's farthest bound, where, Maruts, is the lowest depth that ye have 7 Your winning is with strength, dazzling, with heavenly light, with fruit mature, O Maruts, fall of 8 The rivers roar before your chariot fellies when they are uttering the voice of rain−clouds. 9 Prani brought forth, to fight the mighty battle, the glittering army of the restless Maruts. 10 May this your laud, may this your song O Maruts, sung by the poet Mana's son,

2 Along the traces of the Wind they hurry, they come to him as dames to an assembly. 3 Travelling on the paths of air's midregion, no single day doth he take rest or slumber. 4 Germ of the world, the Deities' vital spirit, this God moves ever as his will inclines him.