Come swiftly to the sacrifice, O Indra, driven by our hymns. Drink of the Soma that we pour; rejoice in the sacred rite and in the songs we raise.

The rays of dawn now break upon the sky; the pressing-stones ring out their cry. Come hither, Golden One, upon thy steeds of bay; come in thy chariot to the feast.

Thy horses strain to reach the shrine, their hooves like thunder on the way. The golden wheels of thy car shine forth resplendent in the dawn. Come drink the juice we have prepared, O Mighty One, and grant us victory.

Indra, whose arm is swift and sure, whose thunderbolt no force can bear—we call to thee as children call to him who loveth them. Hear thou our voice and come to us.

The Soma flows like water to the sea; it seeks thee ever, day by day. The priests have set the rite in place; the singers lift their voices high. Come, Bull of Heaven, to the feast; drink deep and be exalted.

The eagle brought the juice from far beyond the realm of heaven and earth. That draught we give to thee alone, O thou of mighty strength. Take it and fill thy belly with the sweetness we have poured.

No foe can match thy power, O Indra; no demon standeth when thou risest up. Thy thunderbolt hath broken every fort; thy might shall never fail. We praise thee with our hymns eternal; come and drink with us.

The bays beneath thy car do stamp and paw, eager to bear thee to the fight. Thy golden harness gleams like fire; the chariot wheels sing out as they turn. Come swift, come swift, O Hero bold, and bless this rite with thy presence.

Thou art the friend of all who call on thee; the refuge of the weak and strong alike. In thee we put our faith and hope; on thee we rest our fortunes. Drink of the Soma and rejoice in us; be generous with thy gifts.

We have prepared thy seat; the fire is lit; the priests have spoken forth the hymn. The maiden waters bear the juice unto the wooden cup. Come now, O Indra, mighty one, and make this feast a victory.

Let thy bay steeds come swift and strong, bearing thy golden car. The chariot-seat awaits thee now; the reins are in thy hand. Come forth to meet the sacrifice; let the drops exalt thee, O Bull of Heaven.

None other god hath might like thine; none other shall receive our praise. Thou alone art worthy of the hymn, of the soma-draught, of the sacred rite. Come therefore, Indra, to our call, and grant us all we ask.