Before thee, O Indra, the foundations of all things trembled. In the first age, when the world was yet unformed and the cosmos lay in chaos, thou didst prop apart the heaven and the earth with thy mighty hands. Thou didst thrust them asunder so that light might flood between them.

Where was there a god like thee in that primordial time? The sky pressed down upon the earth, smothering all becoming. But thou — thou didst grip the sky with unconquerable strength and tear it upward. The earth thou didst hold firm and broad. Between them thou didst spread the light.

Thy cosmic deed knoweth no equal. No other god hath accomplished what thou hast wrought. The serpent Vṛtra lay coiled, choking the waters of life. His bulk was vast as a mountain, his poison deadly. But thou didst strike him with the thunderbolt, and his coils shattered. The waters rushed forth, flowing free toward the sea.

In that victory, thou didst loose the dawn. The sun began his journeys across the sky. The stars were set in their courses. All life became possible. The very order of existence — the ṛta itself — floweth from thy deed.

Even now, O Indra, thy ancient power sustaineth all things. The sun crosseth the sky because thou hast held the heavens high. The waters flow because thou didst break the serpent's coils. The seasons turn in their courses because thou didst establish order out of chaos.

We mortals live and breathe within the world thou didst create. Our cattle graze upon the broad earth that thou didst hold firm. Our children play beneath the sky that thou didst lift. Every breath we take is a gift born of thy primordial labor.

Glory to thee, O Indra! Glory to the propper-apart of heaven and earth!