From the dead hand I take
the bow he wielded
To gain for us dominion, might
and glory.
Thou there, we here, rich in heroic
offspring,
Will vanquish all assaults of
every foeman.
Approach the bosom of the earth,
the mother,
This earth extending far and most
propitious;
Young, soft as wool to bounteous
givers, may she
Preserve thee from the lap of
dissolution.
Open wide, O Earth, press not heavily
upon him,
Be easy of approach, hail him
with kindly aid;
As with a robe a mother hides
her son,
So shroud this man, O Earth.
Rig Veda 10.18
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