Flow thou around in chase of him, O drop, who in thy rapture didst strike down the ninety and nine.

He felled the strongholds in a single day, for him whose thought is sharp and sure— he smote Śambara for Divodāsa,
and made an end of Turvaśa and Yadu.

Pour round to us flesh of the steed, O seeker of horses, and wealth of kine and gold, O drop, and a thousandfold feasts of plenty.

While thou art cleansing thyself, while thou dost stream through the filter, we choose thy fellowship.

Thy waves that rush into the strainer in a stream— with them show grace to us, O Soma.

Being made pure, bring unto us wealth and delight, with men of might, while thou dost reign in all places.

Him do the ten fingers tend, him whose mother is the flowing river;
he is numbered among the Ādityas.

Pressed, he passeth into the strainer, joining with Indra and with Vāyu,
joining with the beams of the sun.

Make thyself clean for us, O honeyed one, for Bhaga, for Vāyu, for Pūṣan— dear art thou to Mitra and to Varuṇa.

High above wast thou born from thy stalk; though heaven held thee, thou madest thy dwelling upon earth, seizing great might and wide renown.

With it shall we win all bright things of men that lie with the stranger—so seek we their gain.

Stream for Indra, worthy of worship, for Varuṇa, and for the storming Maruts, winning for us a broad and spacious realm.

To him who, newborn, crosses the waters, breaking through, decked with cattle— to that bright drop the gods have drawn nigh.

Let our songs uphold but him, as kine uphold their calf with shared milk— him who stealeth the heart of Indra.

Hasten, O Soma, as weal for our kine;
pour forth swelling delight.
Enlarge the hymn-worthy sea.

Being cleansed, he hath begotten thunder bright as the sky, and the lofty light for all mankind.

When thou dost cleanse thyself, O king,
thy sap, that glad draught that bringeth no woe, rushes through the wool of the sheep.

O self-cleansing one, thy strong sap shines forth, a brilliance for all men to behold the sun.

Thy thrilling draught, fit to be chosen— with that stalk cleanse thyself, pursuing the gods and crushing the wicked of speech.

Thou that didst shatter Vr̥tra the foe,
and winnest the prize each day, thou art the gainer of kine and steeds.

Become thou ruddy, mingling with the milk-kine as with fair-lapped dames, sitting like a hawk in thy womb.

Cleanse thyself, thou that gavest Indra strength to fell Vr̥tra, the bar to the mighty waters.

May we, men of good might, gain the prize, O Soma, thou that rewardest.

Being made pure, lift up our songs.

With thy help, by thy strength, may we stand against all hindrance.
O Soma, keep watch o’er the holy law.

Soma, casting down the proud and the stingy, cleanses himself, making ready to meet with Indra.

Bring thou great wealth unto us, self-cleansing one; cast down the scorners.

Grant us glory in men of renown, O drop.

Not even a hundred tangled tufts shall hinder thee, when thou art keen to give freely, when, being cleansed, thou contendest or bestowest.

O drop, cleanse thyself when thou, the bull, art pressed.
Make us famed among the folk.
Break all hatreds asunder.

In thy fellowship here, in thy highest splendor, O drop, may we o’ercome them that rise against us.

Thy dread, sharp weapons, made for the smiting— with these, shield us from the shame of any man.