"Before him of a truth, Angromainyu (the evil spirit) trembles, the deadly one; before him trembles Aeshma, the wicked-minded, and body-destroying; before him trembles Bushyançta, the long of hand, and all invisible Daevas and the sinners from Varena. When the evil one, who works wickedness, runs forth with swift step, Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, swiftly harnesses his chariot, and Çraosha, the pure and strong, and Nairyoçangha, the herald, beats him and his ranks. When Mithra comes where the lands are against him (_i.e._ do not honour him) he brings down his club on horse and rider. Against them he brings mighty destruction and terror; he bears away the heads of the men who deceive Mithra. Their arrows, swift-feathered, sent swiftly forth by the string from the well-stretched bow, strike the air only; the lances, sharp and running out with long shafts from the arm, strike the air only; the missiles from the strings strike the air only; the well-directed swords and well-slung clubs beat the air only; meanwhile, angry, enraged, and not propitiated, Mithra approaches, the lord of wide pastures. Thou, O Mithra, angry and mighty, takest the force from their arms; thou takest the force from their arms, and the sight from their eyes, and the hearing from their ears. The wind carries away the lances which the opponents of Mithra throw; even though he throws well and hits the body he inflicts no wound. Standing on the field of battle Mithra annihilates the ranks; the wings quake, and he makes the centre to tremble. They say: Our war-horses were led away by Mithra; by him were our strong arms and swords annihilated. Mithra scares men before and behind; Çraosha, the pure, assists in slaying on all sides. Mithra sweeps them away, slaying them by fifties and by hundreds; by hundreds and by thousands; by thousands and tens of thousands, and without number. We cannot sustain the weight of the angry lord who with the force of a thousand meets the foe; who dashes on in his rage, and rests not from the slaughter; who destroys all at a blow. May not the mightiest, the swiftest, the most victorious of the Yazatas fall upon us. Come to our help, O Mithra, high lord, when the arrow hisses aloud and the horse neighs in his nostrils, and the missiles whizz, and the strings speed forth the sharp, bony arrows. Whomsoever Mithra protects, him the well-sharpened lance cannot reach, nor the arrow flying past him.