The soma hath been pressed, O king, for Indra to drink it down. Let all the gods assemble here to join in this great feast.

The cup is held on high; the offering riseth like a flame. Come, O Indra, come with speed; the soma calleth for thy tongue.

The wind doth blow; the waters flow; the soma filleth up the bowl. We have prepared this sacred drink, the finest that was ever made.

O Soma, thou art purifying all who drink of thee. Thou givest strength to sinew; thou openest the heart.

With Soma drunk, the warriors grow bold. The young men shout; their courage burneth bright. The gods themselves look on and smile.

Let Indra come with all his might—the wielder of the thunderbolt. Let Vayu come with gentle breath; let Mitra bless our rite.

The morn is breaking; dawn hath come. The birds do sing their songs of praise. All creatures waken to the light, and we do lift our voices high.

O Indra, thou art mighty still. Thy deeds are sung in every age. From the beginning of the world, thy thunderbolt hath shaken all.

Grant us this day thy favor, lord. Let no disaster touch our folk. Let health and vigor dwell with us; let joy be in our homes.

The soma hath been drunk; the rite is finished; all is well. The gods are satisfied; the mortals live; the world doth spin on.