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HYMN LVIII. Maruts.

1. SING to the troop that pours down rain in common, the Mighty Company of celestial nature.
They make the world-halves tremble with their greatness: from depths of earth and sky they reach to heaven.
2 Yea, your birth, Maruts, was with wild commotion, ye who move swiftly, fierce in wrath, terrific.
Ye all-surpassing in your might and vigour, each looker on the light fears at your coming.
3 Give ample vital power unto our princes let our fair praises gratify the Maruts.
As the way travelled helpeth people onward, so further us with your delightful succours.
4 Your favoured singer counts his wealth by hundreds: the strong steed whom ye favour wins a thousand.
The Sovran whom ye aid destroys the foeman. May this your gift, ye Shakers, be distinguished.
5 I call, as such, the Sons of bounteous Rudra: will not the Maruts turn again to us-ward?
What secret sin or open stirs their anger, that we implore the Swift Ones to forgive us.
6 This eulogy of the Bounteous hath been spoken: accept, ye Maruts, this our hymn of praises.
Ye Bulls, keep those who hate us at a distance. Preserve us evermore, ye Gods, with blessings.

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