Glorify none other, O friends; go not astray. Praise Indra alone, the Bull, when the juice is shed, and utter your hymns again and again.

And may the dear voice among dear voices be for Indra, day upon day. Flow forth unto us by thy greatness, O worthy of praise, as toward a prize upon the course.

This is the priest who keepeth the sacred seasons—Soma, pressed for thee, O Indra, at the rite. With Gāyatrī metres and their songs, may he come richly horsed unto thy call.

Now as of old the wise singers praise thee with their hymns. None other hath, O thou of many invocations, aught of gift or greatness like unto thine.

None like thee in heaven nor on earth is born, nor shall ever be. Desiring steeds and seeking prizes, O bounteous Indra, we thy praisers call upon thee.

He, the mighty one, whose bounties stream in a hundred courses—Indra, breaker of strongholds, lord of might—to him go forth our songs, even as the waters seek the hollow.

Thou didst pierce the demon Śuṣṇa's swiftly-flying fort with bolts of thunder; thou didst shatter it like an ancient jar. Thou hast brought forth the kine, thou hast won the Soma; thou hast loosed the seven rivers to their course.

Not the might of heaven nor of earth containeth thee, nor the breadth of the two worlds. With the thunderbolt in thy arm thou hast gone forth to battle; to strife with Vṛtra goest thou alone.

When thou, O Indra, bravest of warriors, hurledst the bolt against the dragon, the mountains shook, the heaven trembled, and the whole earth swayed with fear.

O Caster of the Stone, I would not sell thee for a mighty price—not for a thousand, Thunderer, not for ten thousand, not for any gift. I would not give thee up, O crusher of foes.

For thou art the true helper, the shining champion of the singer, the refuge that none may break. Indra, thunder-armed, destroyer of the darksome lair—we seek thee, mightiest of all.

Thou dost hold the wealth that strengtheneth; thou art lord of every gift. Indra, thy generosity is matchless, nor doth any god nor mortal surpass thy bounty.

The singers of the hymn invoke thee, they who love the pressing; the chanters of the sacred verse cry out to thee. Indra, thee alone they laud among the gods, for thou dost hearken when they call.

Even the lowliest singer thou dost raise with aid; the weakest thou dost strengthen, O hero of a hundred powers. Indra, thy care for the faithful faileth not, nor doth thy friendship wane.

Come hither, mightiest Indra, who with Bull-power smashest every fastness. Drink thou the Soma, Lord of the Bays, for keenest rapture.

Set free the wave of heavenly water; bring forth the kine, O vanquisher of Vṛtra. Thou hast shattered ninety-nine strong cities; thou hast slain the serpent with thy bolt.

He who hath overthrown Śambara's mountain fortresses, who in his fury crushed the hundred citadels of the demon—unto that Indra bring the Soma draught, bring praise.

For Indra, the hero, flow the drops; for Indra are the hymns upraised; for Indra do the streams of pressed juice hasten to the wooden vessel.

Go forth, O Indra, forth to victory; let thy steeds be yoked, the tawny ones. Let the pressed Soma cheer thee as thou ridest unto battle, and may the hymns attend thy course.

The draught is pressed, the song is sung; come, Indra, to the singer's call. Rejoice in this our offering, feast with us upon the sweet effusion, and let thy bounty grow.

Like the sun that lighteth all the world, thy glory covereth both the firmaments. No foe withstandeth thee, O Thunderer; thy might prevaileth over all that liveth.

With steeds a thousandfold, with gifts a hundredfold, thy worshipper thou loadest, Indra. Thou givest freely, uncoerced, to him that singeth; thy hand is bounteous beyond reckoning.

Who among the gods is thine equal, O Indra, in majesty and might? Who dareth set himself beside thee? Thy deeds of prowess reach to every quarter, nor hath a limit yet been found.

When the morning dawns and the fires are kindled, the pressing-stones ring forth for thee. The ten sisters ply the task; the sacrifice is spread. O Indra, come to drink.

In the earliest time thou smotest the firstborn of dragons; then thou didst loose the pent-up torrents, setting free the rivers. Thou foundest the light that was hidden, Indra, and gavest forth the Dawn upon her way.

The heaven and earth cannot contain thy glory, nor the broad expanse between them. In battle thou exceedest all; with the thunderbolt thou goest forth, matchless and unconquered.

Wax mighty with these hymns, O Indra; let the drops exalt thee. Let our praises make thee glad, and may the offering of the singer satisfy thy heart.

We have told thy prowess, Indra; we have named thy deeds. The pressing-stones have sounded, the songs are sung. Come hither to our feast, O wielder of the bolt, and drink thyself to ecstasy.

Thou art the giver of horses, giver of kine, giver of grain, O Indra; thou art the lord of wealth, the lord of strength. We call on thee to aid the singer, to enrich the pious, to bestow the prize.

Hasten hither, Indra, from afar, from near—wherever thou dost dwell. Leave not the singer empty-handed; come with the steeds of wind, and bring thy gifts.

For thee the bright drops flow, for thee the pressing-stones clash one upon the other; for thee the priests arrange the rite. Indra, drink of the Soma, quicken thyself, and be our friend.

Let not the wicked harm us, O hero; drive off the hateful, scatter those who mean us ill. Be thou our wall of iron, our fortress sure, and bring us safe through every peril.

Thy praisers, Indra, cry to thee as kine unto the pasture. Be not wrathful; turn not away from us. Drink deeply of the juice we offer, and fill thy belly with the pressed-out stream.

Thus do the Kāṇvas praise thee, O Indra; thus is the hymn upraised for the Bull, the Thunderer. Be gracious to the chanters, be bounteous, invincible—and may we speak as the mighty in the assembly of the wise.