Almighty strength be mine alone, whatever I may do, daring in my heart; for I indeed, O Maruts, am known as terrible: of all that I threw down, I, Indra, am the lord.
O Maruts, now your praise has pleased me, the glorious hymn which you have made for me, ye men!—for me, for Indra, for the joyful hero, as friends for a friend, for your own sake, and by your own efforts.
Truly, there they are, shining towards me, bringing blameless glory, bringing food. O Maruts, wherever I have looked for you, you have appeared to me in bright splendor: appear to me also now!
The Epilogue
The sacrificer speaks:
Who has magnified you here, O Maruts? Come hither, O friends, towards your friends. Ye brilliant Maruts, welcoming these prayers, be mindful of these my rites. The wisdom of Mânya has brought us hither, that he should help as the poet helps the performer of a sacrifice: turn hither quickly! Maruts, on to the sage! the singer has recited these prayers for you. May this your praise, O Maruts, this song of Mândârya, the son of Mâna, the poet, bring offspring for ourselves with food. May we have an invigorating autumn, with quickening rain.
[TO INDRA AND THE MARUTS]
Those who stand around him while he moves on, harness the bright red steed; the lights in heaven shine forth. They harness to the chariot on each side his two favorite bays, the brown, the bold, who can carry the hero. Thou who createst light where there was no light, and form, O men! where there was no form, hast been born together with the dawns. Thereupon they (the Maruts), according to their wont, assumed again the form of new-born babes, taking their sacred name. Thou, O Indra, with the swift Maruts, who break even through the stronghold, hast found even in their hiding-place the bright ones. The pious singers have, after their own mind, shouted towards the giver of wealth, the great, the glorious Indra. Mayest thou, host of the Maruts, be verily seen coming together with Indra, the fearless: you are both happy-making, and of equal splendor. With the beloved hosts of Indra, with the blameless, hasting (Maruts), the sacrificer cries aloud. From yonder, O traveller, Indra, come hither, or from the light of heaven; the singers all yearn for it;—or we ask Indra for help from here, or from heaven, or from above the earth, or from the great sky.