Hark! The sacred Soma doth ascend into the breast
Of Indra, mighty Thunderer, unequalled and unblest—
Nay, blest beyond all measure! For when the golden draught
Hath touched His lips and entered in, lo! strength hath newly wrought

Within His frame. His sinews swell; His eye doth burn as fire;
His heart doth drum like thunder clouds; His spirit doth aspire
To highest deeds of valor and of cosmic magnitude.
The Maruts shout; the heavens tremble; lo! His multitude

Doth rise to meet the challenge! For the Dāsas gather near,
The demons black and terrible, the monsters we do fear—
But Indra, Soma-strengthened now, doth laugh at all their host.
His hand hath grasped the vajra—that weapon He loveth most.

The liquid fire floweth through His veins like molten gold;
His courage knows no limit; He is never weak or cold.
What god or giant dares to stand before the Soma-king?
What fortress wall or sorcery doth not to naught now bring?

The ritual cup is lifted high; the Soma-juice doth flow
Into the belly of the Lord who marcheth 'gainst the foe.
And as He drinketh deeper, deeper still the power grows—
The thunder rattleth through the sky; the lightning flash doth rose

Against the face of darkness! All the Dāsas flee in dread;
The ninety fortresses fall flat; the wicked armies spread
Like chaff before the whirlwind. O the glory of that fight!
When Indra, Soma-drunken, rideth forth with terrible might!