O Indra, generous champion of the gods, we sing thy praise today!
Thou givest gifts to all who call upon thy name with faithful hearts.
The man who bringeth thee the Soma, the butter, and the finest food—
Thou rewardest him with riches vast and honors without measure.

Thou art the lord of generosity; thy hand is ever open.
The poor man who doth call upon thee shall find his fortune changed.
The warrior who trusteth in thy strength shall win the day of battle.
The merchant who doth offer up his finest goods shall double all his wealth.

The sacred cow that giveth milk—thou grantest this to those who praise thee.
The swift horse that winneth every race—thou givest this as well.
The sons of noble birth and strength—thou sentest them to faithful men.
The women fair and chaste and wise—thou grantest them to worthy folk.

Indra, thou hast no equal in thy kindness or thy might.
The gods themselves do bow before thee; the demons flee in terror.
Thou art the friend of all who seek thy favor with a humble heart.
Yet thou art terrible unto the proud; thou crushest all who rebel.

We offer thee our best—the finest bull, the sweetest Soma-wine.
Accept our praise and our devotion; grant us what we humbly ask.
May our cattle never perish; may our crops grow ever full.
May our enemies fall back defeated; may our friends stand ever strong.

O generous one, remember us when thou dost dwell on Indra's mount.
Think kindly on the men who praise thee; reward them as thou art accustomed.
We shall never cease to honor thee with sacrifice and prayer.
Thou art our lord, our hope, our strength—forever and forever more.