This was the first among all that breathe, whence was born the mighty one of ringing, manful soul.
New-born, he melteth down his foes, while all his friends lift voice in cheer.

Waxing in strength with rising force, that much-might one striketh fear in the Dāsa’s heart.
When thou takest both quick and still things as thy prize, thy fellows roar as one at the feasting of soma, at the mirthful rite.

All hearts incline to thee, yea, though thy fellows be double or thrice in count.
“Send forth the sweeter than sweet, with the sweet.
With honey strive for yon honeyed prize.” For in such words do seers, at each glad rite, stir thee to triumph with their praise.
Draw tight thy mightier bow, bold one—let not the wizards of dark craft beguile thee.

Through thee, our hearts leap high in battle, for lo, we behold many strifes yet to come.
My voice doth awaken thy weapons; my sacred word whetteth thy soul.

I sing of him who is fit for song, the many-shaped craftsman, mightiest of the sons of Apta.
He shall break the seven Dānus with his growing power; he shall lay low the throngs that stand against him.

Thou hast laid this gift, both near and far, in the dwelling where thy hand did lend its aid.
Thou stilled the two that once were fleet—Heaven and Earth—and roused full many a work thereafter.

Br̥haddiva crieth aloud these hallowed words to Indra: “First was he to seize the sun; his hand ruleth o’er the wide-fold of the sovereign herd, and all his doors he opened by his own will.” Thus Br̥haddiva, son of Atharvan, spoke unto his very self—that self being Indra.
The stainless maidens who cleave to their mother sped him on with swelling strength, and made him full of might.