ctors, 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 to
ask for your brotherhood; take care of us, ye Maruts, for your
friendship lasts forever. O bounteous Maruts, bring us some of your
Marut-medicine, you friends, and steeds. With the favors whereby you
favor the Sindhu, whereby you save, whereby you help Krivi, with those
propitious favors be our delight, O delightful ones, ye who never hate
your followers. O Maruts, for whom we have prepared good altars,
whatever medicine there is on the Sindhu, on the Asikni, in the seas, on
the mountains, seeing it, you carry it all on your bodies. Bless us with
it! Down to the earth, O Maruts, with what hurts our sick
one--straighten what is crooked!

XVII

Full of devotion like priests with their prayers, wealthy like pious
men, who please the gods with their offerings, beautiful to behold like
brilliant kings, without a blemish like the youths of our hamlets--they
who are gold-breasted like Agni with his splendor, quick to help like
self-harnessed winds, good leaders like the oldest experts, they are to
the righteous man like Somas, that yield the best protection. They who
are roaring and hasting like winds, brilliant like the tongues of fires,
powerful like mailed soldiers, full of blessings like the prayers of our
fathers, who hold together like the spokes of chariot-wheels, who glance
forward like victorious heroes, who scatter ghrita like wooing youths,
who chant beautifully like singers, intoning a hymn of praise, who are
swift like the best of horses, who are bounteous like lords of chariots
on a suit, who are hastening on like water with downward floods, who are
like the manifold Angiras with their numerous songs. These noble sons of
Sindhu are like grinding-stones, they are always like Soma-stones,
tearing everything to pieces; these sons of a good mother are like
playful children, they are by their glare like a great troop on its
march. Illumining the sacrifice like the rays of the dawn, they shon