O Indra, thou generous lord! Thy hand is ever open to those who worship thee with sincere hearts. The cattle-herds that follow thy banner grow fat and multiplied. The granaries of those who pour thee soma overflow with grain. The women of thy people bear children strong as warriors, and their sons make names for themselves in battle.

Thou art the giver of bounty, O golden one! When a man calleth upon thee with proper ritual and pours the juice of soma into the sacred fire, thou dost hear his prayer. Thou dost bless his herds, that they may increase beyond counting. Thou dost grant him cattle — the wealth of the ancient peoples — and his kine shall know no sickness.

We sing of thy gifts, O mighty Indra! Thou hast given to our people the soma plant itself, the drink of the immortals. Through the soma, we mortals taste delight divine; through the soma, we commune with the gods. And thou, having drunk deeply of this sacred draught, art moved to generosity toward all who honor thee.

The Maruts, thy companions, dance attendance upon thy kindness. The Aśvins, the physicians of the gods, carry thy blessings to the sick and infirm. The Apsarases sing thy praises in the celestial courts. And we, thy mortals, do the same here upon the earth.

Grant us, O lord of abundance, the wealth of cattle and the wealth of sons. Let our enemies perish, lean and wasted, while we grow rich in herds and fields. Let the enemy's women bear only weaklings; let his warriors fall in battle. But for us, O generous one, let the rains come in their season, and let our families prosper for all the generations yet unborn!