When, O noble one, for thee who yearnest for song, shall thy beard fall upon the waters, unto the soma long pressed for thee, whose friendship is sought, thy breath carried by the wandering wind?

Thou who drivest thy twin pale bays—well reined, yet ruled each by its own will— the steeds of slender form, with manes falling like twin cords, thou keeper of the hearth—

Indra, apart from these two, standeth still as a weary man, struck low by fear.
But when he, the mighty, hath yoked them in grace, Then with them shall Indra win renown—though he be but their rider, their servant still— with the twin thunderers, each under its own command,

Indra shall be hailed a champion.

He that rideth the maned pair, as on Heaven and Earth broad-spread, to seek gain, the fair-lipped wight doth win the draught with lips alone.

He of great strength hath lifted the song with the lofty; the hero hath wrought it with swelling might, as a craftsman bringeth shape to thought, like Mātariśvan of old.

He who forged his mace for easy smiting of the Dasyu— he, golden-hued, golden through and through, whose jaw is whole, is like the unfailing breath of the air above.

Break thou the crooked for our sake.
May our song bring down the songless foe.
Our offering is not without holy word, even as thou takest thy joy therein.

When the threefold one standeth upright for thee at the yoke of sacrifice, set aright, then, with these twain, board thou the boat of glory, that beareth its praise within itself.

Thy dappled pourer is bright with splendor, thy spotless ladle likewise— those by which thou liftest draughts into thine own vessel.

Though a hundred should rise against thee, O lordly one, Sumitra hath praised thee in this wise,

Durmitra hath sung thee thus— for thou didst help Kutsa’s son when the Dasyus were broken, for thou didst uphold the child of Kutsa in their fall.