Let Indra the Foebreaker quaff the reed-born Soma, nerve in his breast for a mighty deed; O drop, flow round about for Indra.

Cleanse thyself, Lord of the Quarters, bounteous Soma foaming high; with words of naked truth, in faith and fervour art thou bruised. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

The thunder-fed Buffalo waxed in strength; the Daughter of the Sun bore him, the Gandharvas welcomed him, and hid him as living sap within the Soma. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

Truth is thy splendour, truth thy tongue; thy works are real, Sovereign Soma. By the Fashioner art thou made ready. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

Lofty art thou and firm of limb; twin torrents mingle and rush as one. Rich in thy very richness, tawny lord, thou art strained by hallowed spell. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

There where the chanter, shaper of measure, lifts his voice beside the grinding stone, waxing great on Soma and kindling joy— O drop, flow round about for Indra.

There where the deathless radiance dwells, the realm wherein the Sun is set, set me, self-cleansing one, in the world that faileth not. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

Where Vivasvant’s son is king, where a ladder leans from heaven, where the ever-youthful waters race—there make me deathless. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

Where free spirit may wander at will through heaven’s triple-arched expanse, in those light-filled worlds set me immortal. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

Where longing and fulfilment meet, where burneth the bright brow of the coppery lord, where freedom and full content abide—there make me immortal. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.

Where joys and sweetnesses abide, where rapture lifts her shining head, where the very desires of desire are won—there make me immortal. — O drop, flow round about for Indra.