Sing praise to Indra! He alone stands high above all things that live; him have the Kāṇvas called upon, and lo! he comes with arms unstayed.

The cloud-god split the demon-mountain when he strode about with might; he loosed the waters, vast and swift, to flow in courses down the earth.

The waters, prisoners held before within Vṛtra's stony breast, now run obedient at his word and scatter wealth upon the land.

What power hath he? What glory doth attend the thunderer's name abroad? He moveth heaven, he shaketh earth, he boweth down the haughty foe.

His chariot, golden-wheeled and bright, is drawn by steeds of boundless strength; when thus equipped, no god nor demon may contest his awful path.

The Indra whom the Kāṇvas praise—yea, him do all the gods revere—he hath upheld the vaulted sky as though it were a roof of stone.

The firmament and all its worlds rest upon his mighty hands; he is the prop that holdeth up the heaven and the earth beneath.

What treasure hath he gathered fast? What riches doth he pour abroad? The Indra of the ancient days doth give the cattle-hoards their fill.

The soma draught hath boundless sway; him filled therewith, who standeth firm? Not heaven, not earth, not all the winds can move him from his seat when swollen with the drink.

He quaffeth from a vessel vast, a horn that runneth ever full; the soma-draughts he swalloweth down as rivers swallow up the rain.

When drunk with soma's sacred juice, this warrior god doth laugh aloud; he smiteth then both stone and foe, and raineth gifts upon his friends.

His thunderbolt, the greatest bolt that ever rolled from heaven's gate, did cleave the mountainous Vṛtra's breast in twain and loose the prisoned waters forth.

The stones, the weapons that he wields, the arrows that he casteth forth, are mighty as the mountains high and terrible to behold.

When Indra moved in full array—his bow drawn firm and fingers tight—the demons quailed within their hold, and even Vṛtra cowered and shrank.

His chariot is the speed of wind; his steeds are swiftness incarnate; when thus he rideth out to war, the enemy doth flee in haste.

The gods themselves do bow before the terror of his rolling drums; the earth doth quiver in her depths when thus he cometh to the fray.

His enemies, the godless ones—those Dasyu men of evil heart—he crushed beneath his chariot wheel as ripened grain is crushed in mills.

For this the Kāṇvas sang his praise, for this they poured the soma out; for this the singers call on him with songs both loud and sweet to hear.

O mighty Indra! Drink this draught that we have mixed with utmost care; rejoice with all thy kinsmen now and grant us victory in war.

The treasure that Indra did win—the wealth that he did win of old—from out the demon's hollow breast, doth still sustain the righteous man.

He beareth in his mighty hand the thunderbolt of golden hue; therewith he rends the heaven's vault and spreadeth forth the light of day.

The Indra whom the Kāṇvas praise is mightier than the Maruts strong; he is more glorious far than all the gods that dwell within the sky.

What sacrificer calleth him with voice uplifted in the dawn? Straightway doth Indra turn his ear and answer to the humble's prayer.

The foes surrender all their gold when once they know that he doth come; they hide their faces and they flee before the thunder's awful sound.

His arms are long as mountain peaks, his hands are strong as iron bands; therewith he holdeth heaven fast and casteth down the foes of gods.

The Kāṇvas, noble priests of old, have praised him with a hundred hymns; for him they press the soma sweet, and call upon his name aloud.

So grant us now thy ear, O lord! Come down unto this sacrifice; accept the soma and the gift, and give us wealth and victory both.

The cattle thou shalt bring us home, the horses thou shalt give to us, the gold, the silver, and the gems, the riches vast and manifold.

Thus have we praised the thunderer, the Indra of the ancient days; him have the Kāṇvas glorified with hymns that mount up to the sky.