Come, we have pressed the juice for thee. O Indra, drink the Soma here. Sit thou on this my sacred grass.
O Indra, let thy long-maned Bays, yoked by prayer, bring thee hitherward. Give ear and listen to our prayers.
We, Soma-bearing Brāhmans, call thee, Soma-drinker, with thy friend, We, Indra, bringing juice expressed.
Indra the singers with high praise, Indra reciters with their lauds, Indra the choirs have glorified.
Indra hath ever close to him his two bay steeds and word-yoked: car, Indra, the golden, Thunder-armed.
Indra hath raised the Sun aloft in heaven that he may see afar. He burst the mountain for the kine.
