O thou oft-called, thou hast smitten thine adversaries.
Thy storm-born might standeth above all others.
Let thy bounty now be poured out in this place— Indra, bring forth good things with the gift borne by the priest.

Thou art lord of the rivers, full and strong.

Like some dread beast of the wild hills, that dwelleth aloft and wandereth wheresoever it will, thou hast come from far-off bounds to this ground.
Thy tooth is whetted, thy chariot-rim made keen— O Indra, cleave thy foes in twain; lay low the proud and scornful.

Thou wert born to rule and to might that is meet to strive for, thou bull of the homely lands.

Thou dravest out the stranger folk, and madest broad the dwelling-place of the gods.