Who treads the courts of the self-cleansing draught—on him men prophesy a line of comely sons; for he hath fastened his thought upon thee, O Soma. —O shining Drop, wheel thy circuit round for Indra.

Seer Kaśyapa, nerve thy song with the praise that mantra-makers frame; bow before Soma the King, first-born and lord of every herb. —O crystal Drop, wheel thy circuit round for Indra.

Sevenfold lie the quarters, each beneath its several sun; seven Hotar-priests serve the rite in season. The seven bright Sons of Āditi—stand we guarded by their light, O Soma. —O crystal Drop, wheel thy circuit round for Indra.

With the oblation made ready for thee, O King, shield thou our band, O Soma. Let no foeman overmaster us, let no ill befall. —O crystal Drop, wheel thy circuit round for Indra.