All glory unto Indra! The champion of the gods, the thunderer supreme, the lord of might unmatched! All the divine powers bow before him; all the hosts of heaven acknowledge his sovereignty. There is none greater; there is none mightier; there is none more terrible in wrath.

Indra, the bull-strength of the firmament! Thy shoulders are broad as the earth; thy arms are strong as the pillars of the cosmos. When thou dost rise, the very heavens shake. When thou dost speak, the gods do tremble. When thou dost laugh, all creation echoes with thy mirth.

The thunderbolt in thy hand! It flasheth like lightning across the sky. It hath overthrown ten thousand demons; it hath broken the pride of a hundred sorcerers. No fortress can withstand it. No armor can turn it aside. The strongholds of the wicked crumble like clay pots beneath its fury.

Thou didst slay the serpent Vṛtra and loosed the waters. Thou didst scatter the armies of Śambara the sorcerer. Thou didst cast down Namuchi from his high seat. All the demons fear thy name; all the evil spirits flee when thy thunderbolt appeareth.

Yet thou art not only terrible in battle—thou art also the friend of those who love thee. Thou hearest the cry of the poor; thou seest the widow in her distress; thou liftest up the humble and givest them honor. The singer who composeth thy praise with a sincere heart shall find favor with thee.

Come now, O mighty Indra, to the soma-stone! The priests have gathered here, and they have prepared a feast worthy of thy greatness. The sacred juice floweth like a river. The aroma riseth to heaven. The sound of the pestle against the stone calleth unto thee, saying, "Come! Come! The offering awaiteth thee!"

Drink deeply, O Thunderer, of this oblation! Let thy strength grow mighty through the sacred draught. Let thy courage flame up like a great fire. Let thy wrath be kindled against all thy enemies and the enemies of thy faithful worshippers.

The battle approacheth; the demons gather their hosts; the darkness presseth in upon all sides. But thou art ready, O Indra. Thy chariot standeth harnessed. Thy bay steeds paw the ground, eager for the fray. Thy thunderbolt is raised high, and it gleameth with terrible light.

Go forth, O champion! Go forth to victory! Smite down the wicked! Scatter those who refuse to honor thee! Return with spoils of gold and cattle. Let the singer who hath called upon thee receive the reward of his devotion.

All the gods do praise thee, O Indra; all the celestial powers exalt thy name. The Maruts, thy companions, follow thee into battle. The Vāyu beareth thy banner. The sun himself doth light thy path. The moon doth mark thy triumphs.

We mortals, too, do lift our voices in thy praise. We beat the drums of war. We sound the conch-shell horn. We sing the ancient hymns that have been sung since the foundation of the world. Hear us, O mighty one! Accept our devotion!

Come to the feast; drink of the soma; grant unto us victory, strength, and long life. Let no harm befall those who honor thee with song and sacrifice. For thou art the mightiest of all; thou art the unconquered; thou art the lord of all creation.