2Drink the libation rich in sweets, O Asvins Twain: sit. Heroes, on the sacred grass. Do ye with joyful heart in the abode of man preserve his life by means of wealth.

3The Priyamedhas bid you come with all the succours that are yours. Come to his house whose holy grass is trimmed, to dear sacrifice at the morning rites.

4Drink ye the Soma rich in meath, ye Asvins Twain: sit gladly on the sacred grass. So, waxen mighty, to our eulogy from heaven come ye as wild−bulls to the pool.

5Come to us, O ye Asvins, now with steeds of many a varied hue, Ye Lords of splendour, wondrous, borne on paths of gold, drink Soma, ye who strengthen Law.

6For we the priestly singers, fain tohymn your praise, invoke you for the gain of strength. So, wondrous, fair, and famed for great deeds come to us, through our hymn, Asvins, when ye hear.