For the bold and joyous One the bow is drawn, a token of his manly might; and those who seek the Great weave for their Sovereign a radiant mantle, set before the van of inspired speech.

Made ready through the night, he hurls himself toward the spoils; the keen imaginings of Vivasvān urge the tawny Charger to his coursing.

We deck this Radiant One—sweet rapture itself, Indra’s choicest draught—whom erst the kine with eager mouths did sip, and now the lords of the rite taste afresh.

They lift their ancient hymn to greet him while he is cleansed, and the clear-visioned thoughts, each bearing a god’s fair name, long for his presence.

Upon the sheep’s soft fleece they strain him, and the steadfast Spirit waxeth strong; those quickened with vision yearn for him as herald and foremost in mind.

Thus refined, the most enrapturing Soma rests within the beakers, sowing his seed therein as in goodly herds; the Lord of insight maketh his eloquence shine.

The deft-fingered workers tend him—the god pressed for the gods; knowing his whole affinity with the Waters, he plunges through the wide streams.

O glittering Drop, pressed and upheld by mortal hands, thou art led through the sieve; most gladsome for Indra, thou now reposest here within the cups.