The self-cleansing Soma streams have gone forth, laden with aim and fullness.
They bring to light the hidden wealth.

Rise thou, bright drop, in heaven and on earth— grow as the bringer of glory, the master of reward.

For thee the winds do hasten in favor;
for thee the rivers run.
O Soma, they lift thy might on high.

Swell in this place, and gather thy bull-strong force from every quarter, O Soma—be found where the prize is met.

For thee, O dusky-hued, the kine have poured out the deathless ghee and milk, upon the loftiest height.

Thou—well-armed, and truly here, O shaper of all— we seek thy kinship, bright drop divine.