Come now, O Indra! Put on thy armor of light; take up thy thunderbolt; mount thy chariot. The enemy gathers at the border; his chariots darken the plain. We have gathered our warriors; we have sharpened our spears. Thou art our leader; lead us forth to triumph!

Make strong our arms, O god of battles! Let our sword-hands be steady; let our aim be true. Fill our hearts with courage that knoweth no fear. Make us like unto the lions and tigers, swift and deadly in the charge. Let our enemies' hearts fail within them at the sight of us.

Thou hast done this before, O mighty one. How many times hath thy hand turned back the foe? How many times hath thy voice rallied the frightened warrior? We remember thy deeds; we sing them in the evening fire. Thou art our model, our teacher, our inspiration.

Thy thunderbolt is mightier than any spear fashioned by mortal hands. Where thy bolt falls, nothing can resist. The strongest fortress crumbles; the bravest warrior falls. Therefore do we fight beneath thy banner, knowing that with thee at our head, we cannot be overcome.

Let the enemy hear the sound of our coming! Let them see the cloud of dust from our chariots! Let them tremble at the thunder of our hooves! When we strike, let it be as the lightning strikes—sudden, terrible, and absolute.

O Indra, grant us this day! Grant us victory that all may sing of it! Grant us glory that shall be remembered by our children's children! Take thy place at the head of our army; raise thy thunderbolt on high; lead us to triumph!