Swiftly, O Indra, come unto this pressing! The soma flows in rivers rich with sweetness; the sacrificial drink is mixed and ready. Hasten thy chariot hitched with noble horses—come swift as wind, as lightning's flash, to join us.

The priests invoke thee with their sacred verses, the singers raise their hymns of mighty power. The Agni blazes hot upon the altar; the wooden bowls are filled with soma bright. Hear thou our call and come, O Bull of Heaven—thy people wait to greet thee with their praise.

What foe can stand before thee in the battle when thou art clad in thy resplendent armour? No demon's fort can hold against thy thunder; no hostile power may withstand thy coming. The mortal who hath pressed the soma here—thou keepest him, thy chosen one, secure.

We praise thy deeds, O Indra, mighty hero—the Aśvins, Vāyu, Agni, all rejoice with thee. The mountains shake when thy great bolt descendeth; the demon-host doth flee before thy face. Come swift to us, receive our songs and gifting, and grant us victory and the blessed light.

The pressing of the soma calls upon thee, O Indra, lord and king of all existence. Thou whom the earth and heaven both obey—come now to hear the songs that we have fashioned. The ancient rites are fresh upon our altar; the priests await thy presence and thy blessing.

Grant us, O Indra, riches and strong offspring, that we may live in peace and strength eternal. Protect us from all evil, foes, and sickness; keep fast the doors against the powers of darkness. Receive our hymns and gifts with heart rejoicing.