Come hither, do not fail, when you march forward!  Do not stay away, O united friends, you who can bend even what is firm.  O Maruts, Ribhukshans, come hither on your flaming strong fellies, O Rudras, come to us to-day with food, you much-desired ones, come to the sacrifice, you friends of the Sobharis.  For we know indeed the terrible strength of the sons of Rudra, of the vigorous Maruts, the liberal givers of rain.  The clouds were scattered, but the monster remained, heaven and earth were joined together.  O you who are armed with bright rings, the tracts of the sky expanded, whenever you stir, radiant with your own splendor.  Even things that cannot be thrown down resound at your race, the mountains, the lord of the forest—­the earth quivers on your marches.  The upper sky makes wide room, to let your violence pass, O Maruts, when these strong-armed heroes display their energies in their own bodies.  According to their wont these men, exceeding terrible, impetuous, with strong and unbending forms, bring with them beautiful light.  The arrow of the Sobharis is shot from the bowstrings at the golden chest on the chariot of the Maruts.  They, the kindred of the cow, the well-born, should enjoy their food, the great ones should help us.  Bring forward, O strongly-anointed priests, your libations to the strong host of the Maruts, the strongly advancing.  O Maruts, O heroes, come quickly hither, like winged hawks, on your chariot with strong horses, of strong shape, with strong naves, to enjoy our libations.  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.  O ye dancers, with golden ornaments on your chests, even a mortal comes