THE praise-song let him sing forth bursting bird-like: sing we that hymn which like heaven's light expandeth, That the milk-giving cows may, unimpeded call to the sacred grass the Gods’ assembly.
Let the Bull sing with Bulls whose toil is worship, with a loud roar like some wild beast that hungers. Praised God! the glad priest brings his heart's devotion; the holy youth presents twofold oblation.
May the Priest come circling the measured stations, and with him bring the earth's autumnal fruitage. Let the Horse neigh led near, let the Steer bellow: let the Voice go between both worlds as herald,
To him we offer welcomest oblations, the pious bring their strength-inspiring praises. May Indra, wondrous in his might, accept them, car-borne and swift to move like the Nāsatyas.
Praise thou that Indra who is truly mighty, the car-borne Warrior, Maghavan the Hero; Stronger in war than those who fight against him, borne by strong steeds, who kills enclosing darkness;
Him who surpasses heroes in his greatness: the earth and heavens suffice not for his girdles. Indra endues the earth to be his garment, and, God-like, wears the heaven as ’twere a frontlet,
Thee, Hero, guardian of the brave in battles, who roamest in the van,—to draw thee hither, Indra, the hosts agree beside the Soma, and joy, for his great actions, in the Chieftain.
Libations in the sea to thee are pleasant, when thy divine Floods come to cheer these people. To thee the Cow is sum of all things grateful when with the wish thou seekest men and princes.
So may we in this One be well befriended, well aided as it were through praise of chieftains, That Indra still may linger at our worship, as one led swift to work, to hear our praises.
Like men in rivalry extolling princes, our Friend be Indra, wielder of the thunder. Like true friends of some city's lord within them held in good rule with sacrifice they help him.
For every sacrifice makes Indra stronger, yea, when he goes around angry in spirit; As pleasure at the ford invites the thirsty, as the long way brings him who gains his object.
Let us not here contend with Gods, O Indra, for here, O Mighty One, is thine own portion, The Great, whose Friends the bounteous Maruts honour, as with a stream, his song who pours oblations.
Addressed to thee is this our praise, O Indra: Lord of Bay Steeds, find us hereby advancement. So mayst thou lead us on, O God, to comfort. May we find strengthening food in full abundance.
