This seven-crowned, keen-witted thought, begotten of truth and high of reach, our father found in days of eld.

The fourth thereof, the wild unheld, who bides with every man, did bring forth as he spake in solemn tones unto Indra’s name.

Speaking truth and thinking straight, the sons of heaven— those gallant souls of the Lord— the Aṅgirases, in kindled word, did mark the first laid ground of holy rite.

With fellows clamorous as geese, he loosed the fastenings wrought of stone; he bellowed to the kine.

Then Br̥haspati, wise in song, began the hymn and woke the lay.

Two gates beneath, and one aloft—
the kine lay hid, held fast in lies.
But Br̥haspati, in dark did seek the light, and brought the ruddy herd to rise, for he unsealed the threefold door.

The stronghold split from face to flank, the lairs laid bare with one fell stroke— he tore the dawn, the sun, the cow, from out the deep-held fount.
Br̥haspati, with heaven’s cry, did find the chant amidst the skies.

Indra cleft Vala, warder o'er the milk-maids, with a cry as keen as blade.

With comrades drenched in toil’s own dew, he made the miser shriek— and stole away the kine.

With fire-eyed friends, with spoilsmen bold, he sundered him who kept the herd.

The Lord of Holy Speech broke through, his bulls and boars a-sweat, striving toward the hoard.

With steadfast hearts they sued the herdsman for his kine, and bent him with their sharpen’d thoughts.

Then Br̥haspati did loose the ruddy ones, his yokefellows guarding each from blame.

With kindly thoughts we steel his arm, he roareth from his seat like lion-king.
We sing Br̥haspati the bull, who wins where champions strive,
and carries all in every raid.

When he won the shape of all things and rose to the height of heaven, to the thrones above,

Br̥haspati the bull we shall extol, and make him strong— though each of us brings forth the light of speech in his own kind.

Bring to pass our longing, the longing for strength bestowed, for thou upholdest even the weakling in thy fashion.

Let all who scorn us fall behind.
Ye twain—Heaven and Earth—who stir all things, give ear to this.

Indra, in his might, did cleave the crown of the flood, the head of Arbuda's deep.

He smote the serpent; he let loose the seven streams.
O Heaven and Earth, with all the gods, bear us forward.