O Indra, lord of wealth and storehouses full to the brim,
Whose hand doth fill the larders and whose eye doth never dim—
We praise Thee, giver of the herd, the cattle and the grain,
The prosperity that falleth like the mercy of the rain.

When Indra drinketh Soma at the break of festive dawn,
His strength increaseth mightily; the powers of the gone
Do flee before His majesty. The heavens split and pour
Their waters forth in abundance—hark! The Maruts roar!

The herds do multiply beneath His benediction bright;
The bulls grow strong and glistering in the glory of His sight.
The cows do give their milk in streams; the calves do grow apace;
The farmer's field doth overflow with the abundance of His grace.

The storehouses of the faithful swell with golden measure heaped,
With barley, wheat, and riches that the Thunderer hath reaped
From the great cosmos and bestowed upon the house of prayer—
Whoever giveth Soma-praise shall find abundance there.

The children multiply like leaves upon the verdant tree;
The wives bear sons of valor, full of strength and majesty.
The herds do fatten in the pasture; milk doth run like streams;
The home doth prosper ever, passing all of mortal dreams.

O Indra, guardian of prosperity, we sing Thy praise—
Grant us Thy bounty unending through our nights and days.
Make full our barns and multiplied our herds without an end,
And be Thou ever to our house the most abundant friend.