Urged onward, the Sire of both the worlds rolleth forth as a triumphal car, eager for the prize. To mighty Indra he hasteth, whetting his keen-bladed shafts, and gathereth all rich bounty into his hands.

Unto the triple-back’d Bull, the life-bestower, our voices bellow and resound. He, array’d in the forest as Varuṇa is girt with the rivers, flingeth wide desired treasure and choicest gifts.

Mustering a host of champions and heroes full of strength, cleanse thou thyself as the sure conqueror, the taker of the stake. With edge of sword and twanging bow, unconquer’d in the fray, cast down thine every rival.

Spread broad the pastures; fashion havens void of fear; by thine own purging win the twin-joined stores of Heaven and Earth. Striving for the waters, the dawns, the flaming sun, and the hornèd kine, together ye have thunder’d forth great prizes for our lot.

Gladden Varuṇa, O Soma; gladden Mitra. Kindle gladness in Indra, self-cleansing drop, and in Vishṇu. Cheer the stormy troop of Maruts, cheer all the gods; uplift great Indra, sweet drop, unto his heart’s delight.

So, like a resolute king that smiteth all hindrance, purge ever thyself with ringing onset. O sparkling drop, breathe life into our speech, and keep us ever beneath the shadow of thy blessing.