O Indra! The soma that the priests do press floweth forth like rivers of liquid gold. The draught is sweet beyond all telling; the fragrance riseth like incense unto heaven.

Come, O Thunderer, and drink of this offering! Let the pressed juice delight thy heart; let thy belly be filled with rapture. When thou dost drink the soma, thy strength increaseth a thousandfold. The enemies of the gods do tremble and do hide themselves away.

With thy bolt of lightning thou dost smash the strongholds of the demons. The fortresses that seemed eternal, thou dost shatter like clay vessels. The enemy kings, though they think themselves mighty, are but as straw before thy tempest.

Thou art the lord of the rains; the rivers do obey thy command. When thou dost will it, the thunder-clouds gather and the rain falls upon the earth. The fields do flourish; the grain doth grow. The cattle are watered; the people do drink. Through thy power, all life is sustained.

O giver of gifts! Thou art generous beyond all measure. The king who worships thee with soma shall never lack for treasure. The warrior who calls upon thy name shall never lack for victory. The priest who maketh offering unto thee shall never lack for blessing.

The storms do follow thee; the winds obey thy voice. Thou ridest forth upon the tempest with the Maruts at thy side. The clouds break and the rain falls at thy command. Thou art the power that maketh all things grow.

Indra, accept our offering! Hear thou our hymn! Drink of the soma and be pleased. Grant unto us thy favor, thy strength, and thy protection. Let us ever walk beneath thy shadow and dwell in the radiance of thy power.