At midday when the sun doth climb most high, and light doth flood across the brilliant sky, we gather now to pour the soma sweet, and lay our offerings at the sacred seat.

O Indra, hear us at this blessed hour, accept the drink of thy eternal power. The priests have pressed the herb with careful hands; the juice doth flow in consecrated lands. We mix the milk and water with the mead, and lift to thee this most exalted deed.

Come now, O strong one, to our fire's light; drink deep of what we offer here this night. The soma stimulates thy warrior heart; it maketh thee invincible and smart. With every draught thy courage doth increase, thy valor swells, thy enemies release.

We have prepared the cup, we have made ready all for thee, the lord most mighty and most heady. The festival is here, the stones are set, the altar glows where we shall never let the flames die down till thou art satisfied.

O thou who ridest in the midday pride, come taste what we have labored to provide. The pressing-stones have crushed the soma herb; its golden essence is thy just desert. This is the drink that maketh gods most strong, that driveth back the chaos and the wrong.

We praise thee, Indra, now at this high time, when all the cosmos standeth in its prime. The sun at zenith, and thy power most great — accept our gift, O lord of every state.

Grant us the victory in our coming fight; make all our enemies to take to flight. Let our great cattle multiply and grow; upon our fields let all the waters flow.