1NE'ER is he injured whom the Gods Varuna, Mitra, Aryaman, The excellently wise, protect.

2He prospers ever, free from scathe, whom they, as with full hands, enrich, Whom they preserve from every foe.

3The Kings drive far away from him his troubles and his enemies, And lead him safely o'er distress.

4Thornless, Adityas, is the path, easy for him who seeks the Law: With him is naught to anger you.

5What sacrifice, Adityas, ye Heroes guide by the path direct,− May that come nigh unto your thought.

6That mortal, ever unsubdued, gains wealth and every precious thing, And children also of his own.

7How, my friends, shall we prepare Aryaman's and Mitra's laud, Glorious food of Varuna?

8I point not out to you a man who strikes the pious, or reviles: Only with hymns I call you nigh.

9Let him not love to speak ill words: but fear the One who holds all four Within his hand, until they fall.