O INDRA, drink this Soma, pressed out in the mortar, full of sweets. Send down to us great riches,—at your glad carouse-in thousands, O Most healthy. Thou art waxing great.
To thee with sacrifices, with oblations, and with lauds we come. Lord of all strength and power, grant-at your glad carouse-the best choiceworthy treasure. Thou art waxing great.
Thou who art Lord of precious boons, inciter even of the churl. Guardian of singers, Indra,—at your glad carouse-save us from woe and hatred. Thou art waxing great.
Strong, Lords of Magic power, ye Twain churned the united worlds apart, When ye, implored by Vimada, Nāsatyas, forced apart the pair.
When the united pair were rent asunder all the Gods complained. The Gods to the Nāsatyas cried, Bring these together once again.
Sweet be my going forth, and rich in sweets be my approach to home. So, through your Deity, both Gods, enrich us with all pleasantness.
