COME hither, Indra, with Bay Steeds, joyous, with tails like peacocks' plumes. Let no men cheek thy course as fowlers stay the bird: pass o’er them as o’er desert lands.
He who slew Vṛtra, burst the cloud, brake the strongholds and drave the floods, Indra who mounts his chariot at his Bay Steeds' cry, shatters e’en things that stand most firm.
Like pools of water deep and full, like kine thou cherishest thy might; Like the milch-cows that go well-guarded to the mead, like water-brooks that reach the lake.
Bring thou us wealth with power to strike, our share, 'gainst him who calls it his. Shake, Indra, as with hooks, the tree for ripened fruit, for wealth to satisfy our wish.
Indra, self-ruling Lord art thou, good Leader, of most glorious fame. So, waxen in thy strength, O thou whom many praise, be thou most swift to hear our call.
