1 As rain from out the cloud, for You, O God, from my soul This noblest praise hath been produced.

2 Do You, O God, hear the singer's call: accept his songs.

Ye Rulers, grant his heart's desire.

3 Give us not up to poverty, ye Heroes, O God, nor

To slander and reproach of men.

4 To God we bring reverence, high and holy hymn,

And, craving help, soft words with prayer.

5 For all these holy singers here implore Him to succour them,

And priests that they may win them strength.

6 Eager to laud You, we with songs invoke You, bearing sacred food,

Fain for success in devotion.

7 O God, come to us with favour, You who conquer men:

Let not the wicked master us.

8 At no time let the injurious blow of hostile mortal fall on us:

O God, shelter us.

9 Whatever wealth we crave of You, in gold, in cattle, or in steeds,

That, O God, let us gain;

10 When heroes prompt in worship call upon God, Lord of steeds,

Beside the offering poured.

11 Call hither with the song and lauds those who best slay the foemen, those

Who take delight in hymns of praise.

12 Slay You the wicked man whose thought is evil of the demon kind.

Slay him who stays the waters, slay the serpent with Your deadly dart.