Hark! The pressing-stones sound out their cry! The soma floweth forth like honey from the comb. The yellow juice falleth into the bowl, waiting to be offered unto the mighty god. Come, O Indra! Come and drink thy fill!

The sacred liquid is pressed from the plant; it is strained through the woven cloth. It shineth like liquid gold in the light of the sacred fires. Its sweetness is beyond all telling. When it toucheth the lips of the god, his power is renewed tenfold. His strength floweth back like the tide returning to the shore.

We call upon thee, O mighty one! Thy chariot is ready; the paths before thee lie open. Hear the sound of the pressing-stones! It is the voice of thy worshippers crying out for thy presence. We have prepared the offering; the soma awaiteth thee. Come swiftly, O Indra!

When thou drinkest of this soma, thy glory shall be magnified. Thy thunderbolt shall become as lightning itself. Thy steeds shall run like the very wind. Thy strength shall be as great as the mountains. No enemy shall dare to lift his hand against thee. All the foes of the righteous shall flee before thy wrath.

The soma giveth life to the god. The soma giveth power to the soma-drinker. It is the sacred link between earth and heaven, between mortal man and the immortal gods. Through the soma, we commune with thee. Through the soma, we offer unto thee our devotion and our love.

Come and drink deeply, O Indra! Be strengthened by the offering we have prepared. And when thou art satisfied, when thy glory shineth forth like the sun upon the mountains, then remember us, thy faithful worshippers, and grant unto us thy blessing and thy protection!