In thine ageless splendor they have drawn the glistening, measureless milk from the seer whose guerdons number in thousands.

A radiance like the sun art thou, coursing to the lakes, along the sevenfold slopes, ascending unto heaven.

Thus cleansed, thou standest over all that lives, even as the Sun-lord on high; for thou art Soma.

To gain the gods for us thou wheelest round the kine-rich prizes, O purified drop, forever questing after Indra.