Sing, O my soul, to him whose bolt doth shatter the demon hosts!
Indra the drinker, Indra the slayer, whose thunder burns at the uttermost coasts.
His thunderbolt is sharpened sharp as any blade of death;
With it he breaketh all enemies in twain, spending his awful breath.

Come thou and drink this soma sweet, pressed out by priestly hands!
The singers are assembled here from all the distant lands.
We call thee down from heaven high, from all thy dwelling-places—
Come, O Indra, and find thy joy in the soma that we raise!

The joy of soma filleth thee like water filleth vessels wide.
Thou drinkest deep and art refreshed; thy strength cannot be tried.
The demons flee before thy face; the serpents hiss and die.
The Maruts leap beside thee here and dance across the sky.

We ask thee for protection now, for wealth and many kine.
Let enemies be scattered far; let all our fortunes shine.
The man who giveth soma drink to thee, O golden god,
Shall prosper all his days on earth, and find the gods will nod.

Thy victories are numbered past the counting of all men.
Thou hast slain the demons countless times, and thou wilt slay again.
With every draught of soma pure that mortals ever bring,
Thy strength is multiplied and grows, O mighty, thundering king.

In thee is all the joy of earth, all pleasure of the dance.
Thy laughter shaketh mountains vast; thy glance is like a lance.
So drink deep of the soma here, and be our strong defense,
That we may live in happiness and peace and opulence.

O Indra, let thy favor rest upon this home and hearth.
Let all who dwell within these walls find joy and merriment and mirth.
We offer unto thee the soma; be thou pleased and well,
And grant us all the blessings that within thy power dwell.