Cleanse thyself, thou who art shared among all scattered tribes, rushing toward all the fruits of songcraft, a fellow to thy fellows, worthy of solemn call.

From the twain thou rulest all, O self-cleansing one— from Heaven and Earth that stand face to face, O Soma.

Thy realms, O Soma, thou encirclest wholly, in the due rites, O self-cleansing bard.

Cleanse thyself, begetter of delights, hastening toward all treasure, as a friend to uphold thy friends.

Thine are the shining beams that stretch wide on the back of heaven, through the sieve, O Soma, through thy lands.

Thine are these seven streams that rush at thy word, O Soma.
For thee the milk-cows make their run.

Pour forth, O Soma, in a flood, pressed to rouse Lord Indra, planting for thyself undying fame.

The seven kindred cried out as one to thee, urging the seer with wise thought in Vivasvant’s trial.

Together they anoint thee, the maidens unwed, on the fleece of the ram, in the lively stream, when, hoarse of cry, thou art greased in the wooden bowl.

Thy waves, O poet and prize-winner, have surged in their rising, as steeds that chase renown.

To the honeyed cask they have pressed, onto the sheep’s fleece; the keen thoughts have bellowed aloud.

Toward the sea the drops have flowed, as kine toward their home, unto the womb of truth.

For our great gladness, the waters and rivers leap forth, O drop, when thou arrayest thyself in kine.

Since we are like to gain in bond with thee, with thee for aid, we yearn for fellowship, O drop.

Cleanse thyself for the seeking of cattle, for the great one with the manly gaze, O Soma—enter the belly of Indra.

Mighty art thou, Soma, foremost, strongest of the strong, O drop.
A striver art thou—victorious always.

Thou art mightier than the mighty, more valiant than the bold, more bounteous than the great givers.

Thou, Soma, art the sun itself; bring hither refreshment at the winning of our sons and seed.

We choose thee as comrade; we choose thee as kin.

O Agni, by thy purging grant longer days; send to us fullness and refreshment.

Misfortune cast afar.

Agni—the seer, the self-cleansing flame, of the fivefold tribes, enthroned before all— him we entreat for a household of greatness.

O Agni, as a faithful worker, by thy purging grant splendor and a host of heroes to us, planting within me thriving and wealth.

The self-cleansing one darts through mishap to the fair song of praise, plain to all as the sun.

He, groomed ever by the Āyus, bringer of joy, is set for delight, the drop, a steed seen from afar.

The self-cleansing one, as the lofty truth, hath fathered the glinting flame, ever breaking the black shrouds of shadow.

Of that self-cleansing one, breaker of gloom, of the tawny-hued, the shining drops have gushed, quickened with flickering fire.

The self-cleansing one, the master charioteer, praised by the shining Maruts as most radiant, gold-gleaming, with the Maruts as his troop.

The self-cleansing one shall spread his beams, greatest in prize-winning, planting a troop of heroes for the singer.

Pressed, the drop hath streamed across the fleecy sieve;
cleansed, the drop hath flowed to Indra.

This Soma doth strike on the hides of kine with stone, ever calling Indra to joy.

Thou, self-cleansing one, whose sky-bright milk was fetched from heaven, with it be kindly to us, that we may live.