Praise Indra, the bull of earth and heaven; praise him, the slayer of demons, the strong lord. The singer calleth unto thee, O Mighty One; come to the pressing of the Soma, to the feast.

Thou hast slain Vṛtra with thy thunderbolt, and loosed the waters; thou hast brought forth the cattle from the cave. The light thou winnest back for us, O Indra; thou hast given the dwelling-place to man.

Thy bays have borne thee swiftly to the combat; thy chariot rolled to strife with all the demons. With thy strong arms thou bearest still the thunderbolt; the worlds tremble when thou ridest forth.

The mountains bow before thee as thou passest; the earth itself doth fear thy coming, Thunderer. No foe may stand against thee in the battle; the hosts of demons flee when thou art risen.

With horses swift as wind thou ridest ever; with bounteous gifts thou loadest all thy praisers. Gold and cattle flow from thy strong hand; the steeds and treasures are thine to bestow. Come hither to the altar, mighty Indra; drink deep of Soma at our solemn rite.

Who giveth gifts like unto thee, O Powerful? Who hath such bounty as the Bull possessed? Ten thousand cattle are the prize of him that singeth; a hundred steeds are given to the faithful. Thy wealth is endless as the sea, O Indra; thy generosity concerneth not the count.

Thou art the mightiest among all the immortals; no god is equal unto thee in valor. Thee alone the singers praise and worship; thee alone the priests do call in all their hymns. With every pressing of the sacred Soma, with every fire that is kindled at the rite, thy name is uttered forth in ancient verses.

The heavens do not contain thy glory; the earth cannot compass it. The breadth between the worlds doth not suffice to measure all thy might. With the thunder-stone thou art armed; the bolt is ever in thy hand. Vṛtra was slain; Śambar fled; the strongholds of the demon fell before thee.

Grant us, O Indra, cattle and great treasures; grant us the blessing of a hundred praises. Grant victory to the singers that invoke thee; grant us the gift of horses swift as eagles. Let our barns be full of grain and gold; let our herds grow countless as the stars.

Thou art the lord of every offering made; the sacred pressed juice floweth unto thee. With thy bay steeds yoked before thy chariot, with thunder-stone uplifted in thy hand, thou goest forth to meet the demon's challenge, and none may stand before thee in the strife.

The singers sing thy praise from age to age; the priests do call thee with voices raised on high. Come to the stone where lies the Soma, drink it in floods, rejoice with us at the feast. Let thy heart be gladdened by our offering; let thy strength grow mighty through the sacred draught.

When thou hast drunk the Soma to the full, the god's own joy shall fill thee. Thy power shall grow beyond all measure then; thou shalt be apt to hear the singer's prayer. Come swiftly down from thy seat in heaven; leave not thy worshippers without thy aid.

Mighty is thy arm, O Thunderer; mighty is the strength that dwelleth in thy body. The demon Śuṣṇa could not stand against thee; Namuchi was slain when thou didst smite. Countless are the forts that thou hast broken; countless are the mighty ones who fell before thee.

With one great stroke the dragon fell defeated; the waters then were set at liberty. The seven rivers flow in their courses; the light came forth as dawn upon the sky. All creatures bow to thee in reverence, O Indra; thou art the lord of all the moving world.

The songs are sung; the pressing-stones have sounded; the sacred fires are burning bright and clear. The priests have made the altar; all is ready for the worship that thou lovest. Come hither now, O Indra; hear our calling; drink thou the Soma and be glad.

Be gracious unto us, O mightiest of warriors; let not the wicked harm the faithful singer. Scatter our foes; drive back the hosts of demons; be thou our fort, our shield against all evil. So shall we praise thee ever without ceasing; so shall thy glory shine from age to age.

Therefore we call on thee, O mighty Indra, wielder of the bolt, the victor ever. Hear the hymn upraised for thee in glory; hear the songs that do exalt thy prowess. Come to the soma-pressers at their labor; come to the feast that hath been spread for thee.

Let no malignant spirit near us venture; let no enemy approach the singer's dwelling. By thy strong arm defend us, Indra, mighty; by thy great power protect the faithful always. So shall the Kāṇvas ever praise thy greatness; so shall thy name be uttered in our verses.

We have brought thee honor, mighty Indra; we have sung thy deeds in songs of power. The sacred juice is pressed; it calls unto thee; the hymns are raised in honor of thy name. Come down from heaven; take thy place among us; rejoice with us and fill our hearts with gladness.

Gracious thou art unto the faithful singer; bountiful unto the one who doth praise thee. With gifts of horses, cattle, gold, and treasures, thou honorest the man who singeth rightly. No stinting hand art thou, O generous Giver; thy bounty floweth ever without measure.

Thus do the Kāṇvas lift their voices for thee, O Indra, mighty one. Hear thou their hymn; be swift to come unto the feast. Let thy strong winds bear thee swiftly hither; let thy bay steeds bear the chariot fleetly. In our assembly let thy thunder sound forth; in our gathering be thou glorified and praised. Come drink the Soma; grow in strength and valor; be our friend forever, Thunderer and Bull.