Set thine eye upon men, and make thyself clean for rapture— for the hunt of the gods,

O drop, and for Indra’s draught.

Speed forth upon thy task for our sake—
thou pourest thyself out for Indra—
haste of thine own will to the gods, thy fellows.

We anoint thee, O ruddy one, with kine for gladness;
unlock for us the doors of wealth.

He hath passed beyond the sieve, as a steed that seeketh the prize runs forth beside the yoke.
The drop playeth the lord among the gods.

His fellows all raised their cry as he sported within the wooden bowl, beyond the woolen veil.

To the drop the thunders have thundered.

Wash thyself in that stream wherein, once thou art drunk,
thou shalt behold a host of heroes for thy singer, O drop.