Flow thou toward us, grain upon grain, fruit upon fruit, thy stalk bearing fullness, O Soma—bring with thee all gifts of fair fortune.

O drop divine, as now thou art praised, as sweetness is born from thy stalk, so take thy seat upon the dear and holy grass.

Be thou for us a finder of kine, a bringer of steeds; cleanse thyself, O Soma, by thy stalk, for the days that hasten near.

He that overcometh yet is not o’erthrown, who smiteth his foe at first meeting— as such a one, cleanse thyself, O thou that gainest in thousands.