In every need, in every fray we call, as friends, to succour us Indra the mightiest of all.
If he will hear us let him come with succour of a thousand kinds, And all that strengthens, to our call.
I call him, mighty to resist, the Hero of our ancient home, Thee whom my sire invoked of old.
They who stand round him as he moves harness the bright, the ruddy steed: The lights are shining in the sky.
On both sides of the car they yoke the two bay coursers dear to him, Bold, tawny, bearers of the thief.
Thou, making light where no light was, and form, O Men! where form was not, Wast born together with the Dawns.
