Like a calf fresh-born, he hath roared into the wooden bowl.
When the ruddy racer striveth for the sun, he goeth with the milk-strong seed of heaven.

Through his grace we beseech him for broad sheltering.

The plant, upholder and pillar of the sky, when stretched aright and brimming full, surroundeth all with its reach.
That plant shall serve the twain world-halves in their turning.
The singer joineth the joined pair and their soul-refreshing draughts.

Great is the bliss of the honey’d Soma made ready, and broad is the lea of Aditi for him that seeketh truth— who, as dawn-red bull, commandeth the rain, who leadeth the waters, deathless and fit for song.

The cloud embodied is milked of butter and milk; from the navel of truth is the deathless draught born.

Together, with fair drops, they gladden him— and the swollen men let fall the driven one.

The plant, in fellowship with the wave, hath cried aloud.
For Manu it swelleth the skin that seeketh the gods.
It layeth the seed in Aditi’s lap—
through it we gain both offspring and goodly wealth.

Let there be endless streams below in the strainer of a thousand threads, and in the third realm, streams that bear the child.

The four hidden flows, rushing from heaven and ghee-laden, bear the oblation—the deathless draught.

He maketh himself a whitened shape in his striving.
Soma, the giver and lord, knoweth the world.
He walketh with wisdom and with rite—that is the path unto him.
He shall cleave the water-brimmed tun of heaven.

And the fleet steed, having won, hath reached the shining white vat, made smooth with kine, at journey’s end.

The god-servers speed him forth with their thought.
A hundred cows for Kakṣīvant of a hundred winters!

Thy juice, when mingled with the waters, floweth through the sheep’s wool, O self-cleansing one.

Made fair by the poets, be thou sweet to Indra’s draught, O gladdener most bright, O self-cleansing one.