MAY our hymns give thee great delight. Display thy bounty, Thunderer. Drive off the enemies of prayer.
Crush with thy foot the niggard churls who bring no gifts. Mighty art thou There is not one to equal thee.
Thou art the Lord of Soma pressed, Soma impressed is also thine. Thou art the Sovran of the folk.
Come, go thou forth, dwelling in heaven and listening to the prayers of men: Thou fillest both the heavens and earth.
Even that hill with rocky heights, with hundreds, thousands, held within. Thou for thy worshippers brakest through.
We call on thee both night and day to taste the flowing Soma juice: Do thou fulfil our heart's desire.
Where is that ever-youthful Steer, strong. necked and never yet bent down? What Brahman ministers to him?
To whose libation doth the Steer, betake him with delight therein? Who takes delight in Indra now?
Whom, Vṛtra-slayer, have thy gift and hero powers accompanied? Who is thy dearest in the laud?
For thee among mankind, among the Pūrus is this Soma shed. Hasten thou hither: drink thereof.
This, growing by Soma and by Śaryaṇāvān, dear to thee, In Ārjīkīya, cheers thee best.
Hasten thou hitherward, and drink this for munificence to-day, Delightful for thine eager draught.
