Sing, O my soul, of Indra's deeds—the mighty works He wrought,
The battles fought, the demons slain, the fortresses He sought!
Did He not smite the serpent Vṛtra in its cavern dark,
And loose the waters of the world? Did not His lightning-spark

Illuminate the vault of heaven? Did not the mountains shake
When Indra, drunk with Soma's bliss, rose up for all our sake?
And Śambara the sorcerer—did not the Thunderer
Cast down his ninety fortresses and make the demon blur

Into the dust of ages past? Yea, and the Paṇis too,
Who hoarded cattle in their caves and barred them from the view
Of mortal men—did not brave Indra drive them forth with might,
And restore the sacred herds unto the people's right?

There were the Dāsas, dark of skin, who challenged His command,
And raised their armies numberless across the threatened land.
But Indra rode forth in His chariot, the Maruts at His side,
And swept them from the field of battle—where could they e'er hide?

The cities of the wicked ones—their walls of stone and steel—
Did crumble at the touch of Him and turn like burning teal.
Each fortress fell; each army broke; each enemy confessed
The glory of the Thunderer, the greatest and the best.

O Indra, thou whose valor is as boundless as the sky,
Whose deeds are sung in every realm and never shall deny
The proof of Thy supremacy in battle and in rule—
Receive our hymn of wonder; Thou art wisdom's truest tool.