Swift and all beautiful art thou, O Sūrya, maker of the light,
Illuming all the radiant realm.
Thou goest to the hosts of Gods, thou comest hither to mankind,
Hither all light to be beheld.
Seven Bay Steeds harnessed to thy car bear thee, O thou farseeing One,
God, Sūrya, with the radiant hair.
Rising this day, O rich in friends, ascending to the loftier heaven,
Sūrya remove my heart's disease, take from me this my yellow hue.
To parrots and to starlings let us give away my yellowness,
Or this my yellowness let us transfer to Haritāla trees.
With all his conquering vigour this Āditya* hath gone up on high,
Give my foe into mine hand: let me not be my foeman's prey.
*Surya goes by many names - Aditya or First Born, is one of them.