O Indra, lord of the soma draught! Thou who art born of the pressing-stones, the song, and the sweet juice! Come unto us in the morning when the sun ariseth; come in the evening when the stars appear.

The soma that we press is thy body; the hymn that we sing is thy voice. In the sacred ritual thou art born anew, again and again. Thou art the eternal god who never dieth but is reborn with each sacrifice.

The pressing-stones do clatter; the soma doth flow forth golden and bright. This is the signal of thy coming; this is the sound that summoneth thee from the heavens. O Indra, when thou hearest this sound, art thou not eager to come?

In the soma's embrace thou growest stronger; thy fire burneth bright; thy power increaseth beyond measure. The demons tremble at thy coming; the asuras flee before thee. O Indra, in the soma thou art made manifest unto the world.

We do not ask for thy presence alone but for thy joy and thy blessing. Come unto us joyfully; come with gladness in thy heart. Be merry in our company; let the soma make thee glad. O Indra, rejoice with us in this sacred rite.

The worshipper who offereth unto thee with a pure heart shall be blessed. The singer whose voice is true shall be heard. The priest who performeth the rite with exactitude shall gain thy favor. O Indra, come and accept our offering with gladness.