Lift up thy song to the boundless, self-cleansing one— to the drop with a thousand eyes, sing with voice full of praise.

Thou with a thousand eyes, bearer of a thousand gifts, art strained and made pure through the fleece’s embrace.

Over the fleeces the self-cleansing one hath flowed; he rusheth into the vats, and entereth the very heart of Indra.

For Indra’s bounty, make thyself pure as Fortune, O vast Soma— bring hither the seed that begetteth offspring.