1 Loud neighs the Tawny Steed when started, settling deep in the wooden vessel while they cleanse him.

Led by the men he takes the milk for raiment: then shall he, through his powers, engender praise-songs.

2 As one who rows drives on his boat, he, Gold-hued, sends forth his voice, loosed on the path of Order.

As the Lord, the secret names of the Lord he utters, to be declared on sacred grass more widely.

3 Hastening onward like the waves of waters, our holy hymns are pressing nigh.

To him they come with lowly adoration, and, longing, enter him who longs to meet them.

4 They drain the stalk, the Steer who dwells on mountains, even as a Bull who decks him on the upland.

Hymns follow and attend him as he sounds: the All-Seeing is borne aloft in ocean.

5 Sending thy voice out as Director, loosen the Invoker's thought as they cleanse thee.

While thou and the Mighty rule for our advantage, may we be masters of heroic vigour.