I stretch me forth toward thee in the first flush of dawn’s feeding light.
Anoint Indra, the Storm-Lords, and the twin world-halves, that day and night, handfast in league, may make each dwelling wide for us as they break forth.

Press this draught as the choicest of draughts.
As a race-horse yoked by guiding hands,
so is the stone held by the hand of the presser.
For it findeth the manly force that overcometh the stranger, and for great treasure’s sake, the presser too is raised to that might, drawn forth from the steed of stone.

For it hath toiled at this very draught, faithful to its calling.
As in days gone by did Indra make the way for Manu to the house of Tvaṣṭar, streaming with kine, adorned with steeds—
there have they heaped rite upon rite.

Break asunder the demons and their ruin.
Set bounds to unmaking. Fend off the slothful drift.
Press forth for us strong sons in wealth.
Lift up the chant that seeketh the gods, ye stones.

To thee, more dreadful than Heaven, more fleet of deed than Vibhvan,
more maddened with soma than the Wind-lord Vāyu, more skillful in the feast than Agni—sing!

Let the noble ones ring aloud for us—
let them press the draught from the stalk— the stones with their heaven-striking cry.

As the greater men draw forth the sweet-honeyed flood for themselves, they cause Earth and Sky to hearken roundabout as the stones cross one another, swift and askew.

The stones, as charioteers, press the draught.
They milk the sap of him who seeketh the kine.
They draw from the udder and pour it forth.
As men of might, they trim the soma, as one doth trim the offering, with their lips.

O ye noble workers, ye have proved the true laborers who press the soma for Indra—ye stones.

All your treasures are for the halls of the gods; all your goods for the one who presseth upon the earth.