O COME ye hither, sit ye down: to Indra sing ye forth, your song, companions, bringing hymns of praise.
To him the richest of the rich, the Lord of treasures excellent, Indra, with Soma juice outpoured.
May he stand by us in our need and in abundance for our wealth: May he come nigh us with his strength.
Whose pair of tawny horses yoked in battles foemen challenge not: To him, to Indra sing your song.
Nigh to the Soma-drinker come, for his enjoyment, these pure drops, The Somas mingled with the curd.
Thou, grown at once to perfect strength, wast born to drink the Soma juice, Strong Indra, for preëminence.
O Indra, lover of the song, may these quick Somas enter thee: May they bring bliss to thee the Sage.
Our chants of praise have strengthened thee, O Śatakratu, and our lauds So strengthen thee the songs we sing.
Indra, whose succour never fails, accept these viands thousandfold, Wherein all manly powers abide.
O Indra, thou who lovest song, let no man hurt our bodies, keep Slaughter far from us, for thou canst.
