Drink, O mighty Indra! The sweet draught awaits thee. We have pressed the Soma stems, and their golden juice floweth forth like the waters of spring. The ecstasy riseth in thy breast, and thou art unstoppable, invincible, clothed in power.

Thy strength was never matched. When thou drankest deeply at the sacrifice, the heavens trembled at thy roar. The demons fled before thee; the mountains bowed. With belly full of Soma, thou art the mightiest of all the gods.

We beseech thee: drink again at our offering. Let the sweet intoxication flood thy limbs. Let thy joy be absolute. For when Indra is filled with Soma, all his enemies scatter like dust. The asuras cannot stand against him. The very air crackles with his glory.

Thou art the one who drinketh and doth conquer. Thy victory is our salvation. We praise thee, O drinker of the pressed stalk! We honour thee with chant and flame. The Soma cup is raised to thee; the prayers ascend like smoke.

Come, O golden-armed lord! Accept our libation. Grow mighty through the sacred draught. Let thy power swell beyond measure. We who pour out this nectar do so in reverence and in hope—hope that thy drunken wrath shall fall upon our enemies, not upon us.

Hail, Indra! Thou art the unconquerable soma-drinker. Thy triumph is eternal. We sing thy praise, we invoke thy name, we pour the Soma for thee. Be pleased with our offering, O mighty one. Grant us victory, grant us wealth, grant us the strength that floweth from thy sacred intoxication.