1 The gold-hued juice, poured out upon the filter, is started like a car sent forth to conquer. He hath gained song and vigour while they cleansed him, and hath rejoiced the righteous with entertainments.

2 He who beholdeth man hath reached the filter: bearing his name, the Sage hath sought his dwelling.

The seers came to him, seven holy singers, when in the bowls he settled as Invoker.

3 Shared by all the righteous, most wise, propitious, he goes, while they cleanse him, to his constant station.

Let him rejoice in all his lofty wisdom: to the Five Tribes the Sage attains with labour.

4 In thy mysterious place, O Purifier, are all the angels, the Thrice-Eleven.

Ten on the fleecy height, themselves, self-prompted, and seven fresh rivers, brighten and adorn thee.

5 Now let this be the truth of the Purifier, there where all singers gather them together,

That he hath given us room and made the daylight, hath helped mankind and repelled the wrongdoer.

6 As the priest seeks the station rich in cattle, like a true King who goes to great assemblies,

He hath sought the beakers while they cleansed him, and like a wild bull, in the wood hath settled.