O Indra, drink thou this soma, sweet as honey, pressed into the cup.
Lay thou for us a deep foundation of wealth, rich in thousands, thou who holdest countless gifts.

In the height of my joy, I would lift up my song to thee, O gods.

We call upon thee with rite and with reading, with offerings and flame.
Thou lord of all might, enthroned in strength, set before us the choicest of all that may be chosen.

In the height of my joy, I would lift up my song to thee, O gods.

Thou art the master of what is best, the lifter of the lowly, the stay of those who sing thy praise.
O Indra, shield us from hate and from bondage.
In the height of my joy, I would lift up my song to thee, O gods.

O mighty ones, ye twain of wonder-working hand, ye did churn the twin-bound kindlers, when, called with holy word by Vimada,
ye stirred the fire, ye Nāsatyas.

The gods all longed after those joined as they fled through the air.
And the gods spake unto the Nāsatyas,
“Bring them back again, we pray you—bring them back.”

Honey-sweet is my going, and honey-sweet my homecoming.
O gods, by your godhood, make us sweet with blessing.