The adorned waves of self-cleansing Soma fare forth unto the belly of Indra, when, drawn with the curds and the shining yield of kine, the pressings have gladdened the giver’s heart, the hero made for bounty.

For Soma hath run to the vats; like a chariot-drawing steed, the bull hasteneth swift, and knowing well the twain birth of gods and men, he reacheth to the far and the near.

O Soma, in thy purging, cast gifts abroad for us; O drop, become a giver rich in treasure.

Giver of might, do well for the goodly one with thy kindly heed— let not thy wealth be poured afar from us.

Let Pūṣan, who self-purgeth, with Mitra and Varuṇa draw nigh in fellowship, bearing fair gifts; and Br̥haspati, the Maruts, Vāyu, the Aśvins, Tvaṣṭar, Savitar, and Sarasvatī, the gently-guiding one.

Heaven and Earth, who stir all things, god Aryaman, Aditi the Womb, the Measurer, Bhaga, the Praise of Men, and the broad Midspace— yea, all the gods—rejoice in the one who cleanseth himself.