Seeking their favour, I bring gifts to the Vasus, or to the two world-halves, with breath of thought or fire-fed rite; or to the steeds made wealthy in the hour of striving; or to the gods of sharpest hearing, who stir the eager soul to seek the sound of grace.

At their calling shall the noble flame ascend to heav’n; his mind aflame with fame, he shall kiss the bosom of the earth, when the gods, seeking easy wayfaring, don their choicest raiment, as the firmament doth clothe itself in stars.

This song is set forth for the deathless ones, who long as one for their treasured praise.

Let them bring to fullness both the thought that burns and the fire that feeds it— and set no half-measure ‘twixt us and the wealth they grant.

The Āyus marvel at thy greatness, Indra, they who seek to pierce the fence that girds the kine, who long to draw the milk of the mighty one, she who bears but once and yet hath sons a many, she who is high-flowing with a thousand streams.

Call Indra to thy side, the mighty help, he who yieldeth not, but bringeth low the foes; lord of the R̥bhus, giver of gifts, hearer of songs well-spun, he who hath the kine in plenty and the club that befits high men.

When the victor of old did win the latest prize, Indra, smiter of Vr̥tra, made good his many names.

He showed himself as the strong lord of triumph; what we seek of him, he shall do.