Come, O Indra, from afar—those who are near do summon thee. Drink the soma here, made ready; let thy thunderbolt be drawn.

Yea, come to us with power, that thou mayst slay the enemies. Come with the mightiness of thy strength; thy friendship holdeth fast.

We have prepared this drink for thee, as one prepareth gold. Accept our offering, O lord, and make thyself our friend.

The Maruts follow at thy heel; the winds do blow before. Thy steeds are swift as thought itself; they bear thee through the sky.

All that is wide, all that is strong, belongeth unto thee. No power resisteth thy command; no foe standeth against thy hand.

Thou art the king of all the gods, the wielder of the bolt. We, thy servants, bow before thee and cry out for thy aid.

Bring unto us the riches now, the herds, the gold, the fame. Make prosperous our dwellings; guard us from every harm.

The thunderbolt hath shattered all the fortresses of the foe. The enemy is cast into the pit; the kingdom falleth unto thee.

Let the singers call upon thee, O mighty one, with voice. Let the libation flow for thee; let thy great deed be known.

We magnify thee, O Indra, in our hearts and with our words. Be thou our lord, our champion, our protector evermore.