Truly, our conceits are many and the duties of folk diverse:
the wright mendeth the sundered plank, the leech restoreth the broken limb, the holy mixer seeketh him that presseth the Soma.
O shining Drop, circle wide for Indra.

With sere herbs, with birds’ bright quills, with steadfast stones from dawn to dusk, the smith laboreth, still desiring the man whose hands hold gold.

O shining Drop, circle wide for Indra.

I am a bard; good Father is a healer; dear Mother driveth the pounding pestle.
Our thoughts diverge, yet all pursue the bounty, following after it as kine their pasture.
O shining Drop, circle wide for Indra.

The coursing steed longeth for a smooth-rolling car; the jester for a jest; the staff of desire seeketh the moss-grown cleft; the croaking frog, the cooling pool.

O shining Drop, circle wide for Indra.