Hark! The thunderbolt is raised in thy hand, O Indra! It burneth with the fire of thy will. No foe can withstand its descent. No fortress wall can turn it aside. It striketh down the wicked and the proud as the axe striketh down the tree.

Thy steeds are the swiftest in all the heavens. They are coloured like bay, like the red earth after the rain. When thou dost mount thy chariot, they spring forward with a bound that shaketh the very earth. The wind cannot keep pace with them; the eagle cannot match their flight. They carry thee across the sky in pursuit of thy enemies.

Generous giver! Thou givest to those who worship thee. Thy gifts are as abundant as the stars in the night sky. To the warrior who calleth upon thee, thou givest strength and courage. To the priest who offereth the soma, thou givest wisdom and insight. To the poor man who cryeth unto thee, thou givest sustenance and hope.

The demons fear thy name. The wicked tremble when they hear thy chariot wheels approaching. The Asuras hide themselves in the depths of the earth, hoping to escape thy wrath. But there is no hiding-place from thee, O lord of might. Thy eye seeth all things; thy hand reacheth everywhere.

Accept our praise, O mighty one! We have kindled the fires of the sacrifice upon the altar. We have pressed the soma; it floweth like water. We have prepared the oblation. Hear us and come unto us! Let thy blessing rain down upon us like the torrents that follow the thunderbolt!

Thou art worthy of all honour. Thy deeds are sung in every land. Thy name is spoken with reverence by all who dwell upon the earth.