O Indra, slayer of the demon! Behold—we have prepared the soma for thee. We have crushed the sacred plant; we have filtered it through the wool. The golden liquid now awaiteth thee, O mighty one! Come and drink. Let the draught pass thy lips. Let it fill thy body with strength divine.

The demon Vṛtra shall tremble at thy approach! He concealeth himself in the mountains, thinking himself safe behind peaks of stone. But what wall can withstand thee? What fortification can contain thy rage when the soma hath filled thy limbs?

Thou shalt advance against him without hesitation. Thy chariot shall roll forward; thy horses shall stamp their hooves upon the earth with mighty thunder. Thou shalt raise thy thunderbolt—that supreme weapon, forged in the fires of creation—and thou shalt hurl it at the demon. The bolt shall strike true. The dragon shall shriek and writhe. His blood shall flow like rivers.

When Vṛtra falleth, the waters shall be released. The dammed-up torrents shall rush forth. The rains shall fall upon the parched earth. The cattle shall drink their fill. The crops shall grow tall in the renewed moisture. Life shall flourish anew.

And all this shall come to pass because thou, O Indra, hast drunk the soma and felt the god-power flow through thy veins. The intoxication giveth thee might; the ecstasy giveth thee will; the sacred draught giveth thee invincibility.

Therefore we make the offering unto thee, O Indra! Consume this soma with joy! Let it kindle in thee the fury and the power that shaketh worlds. For we depend upon thee, O demon-slayer. Without thy victories, without thy strength, the world would sink back into chaos. The demon would reign; the waters would be bound forever; all life would perish. But thou art our hope. Thou art our protector. Thus do we sing thy praises and offer thee the soma.