The soma hath been pressed for thee, O oft-invoked one. With thy pair of dusky bays, speed swiftly to the holy feast.
The songs, whose heroes are the poets, hasten unto thee, O Indra. Drink of the pressed soma.

Thou of the dusky bays, drink here of the soma rinsed in the waters, pressed by our hands—fill thy belly!
The stones have loosed their bounty for thee, O Indra; with these draughts, uplift thy joy, thou who ridest the chariot of hymns.

I stir the strong drink, the true draught of pressed soma, for the bull—for thee to come forth, bearer of the dusky bays.
Indra, delight thyself here in our nourishing streams, while we hymn thee with all our sharpened thought.

By thy strength, O mighty one, and thy warlike hand, the fire-seers, truth-knowing and wise, have gained the life-bearing might and sat them in Manu’s house, O Indra, singing in joy and sharing in thy rapture.

By thy leading—praised one, well-graced and bright with splendor, O lord of the dusky bays—thy folk, thy song-givers, have won thy richest aid to carry them across. It is through thy open hand, O Indra.

O thou of the dusky bays, draw near our sacred words with thy twin steeds, to drink the pressed soma.
Indra, the rite hath found thee and waits in stillness. Thou art the pious mark of the sacrifice.

The giver of a thousand gifts, breaker of hate, lover of the pressing, he who heeds well-twisted hymns— unmatched Indra is attended by song. In the bard’s longing to bow low, he is struck with awe before Indra.

Seven are the godly streams, sweet and unbending, by which thou, Indra, breaker of keeps, didst cross the barred river, the ninety and nine flowing floods. Thou foundest the path for gods and for Manu.

Thou loosed the mighty waters from their bane, and thou, a god alone, didst keep them safe.
O Indra, those same streams born of thy triumph o’er Vr̥tra—may they uphold thy frame through all thy days.

The will of a hero—that is Indra. Good praise and the soma-stream both call him forth.
He shattered Vr̥tra; he widened the world; as the strong one, as triumph itself, he routed the battle-lines.

For blessing we call on bounteous Indra, most manful, at this raid, at the seizing of victory’s prize— he who heareth, he who aideth in strife, he who breaketh down bars—the winner of gifts.