SAKRA I praise, to win his aid, far-famed, exceeding bountiful, Who gives, as ’twere in thousands, precious wealth to him who sheds the juice and worships him.
Arrows with hundred points, unconquerable, are this Indra's n-dghty arms in war. He streams on liberal worshippers like a hill with springs, when juices poured have gladdened him.
What time the flowing Soma-drops have gladdened with their taste the Friend, Like water, gracious Lord! were my libations made, like milch-kine to the worshipper.
To him the peerless, who is calling you to give you aid, forth flow the drops of pleasant meath. The Soloa-drops which call on thee, O gracious Lord, have brought thee to our hymn of praise.
He rushes hurrying like a steed to Soma that adorns our rite, Which hymns make sweet to thee, lover of pleasant food. The call to Paura thou dost love.
Praise the strong, grasping Hero, winner of the spoil, ruling supreme oer mighty wealth. Like a full spring, O Thunderer, from thy store hast thou poured on the worshipper evermore.
Now whether thou be far away, or in the heavens, or on the earth, O Indra, mighty-thoughted, harnessing thy Bays, come Lofty with the Lofty Ones.
The Bays who draw thy chariot, Steeds who injure none, surpass the wind's impetuous strength- With whom thou silencest the enemy of man, with whon; thou goest round the sky.
O gracious Hero, may we learn anew to know thee as thou art: As in decisive fight thou holpest Etaśa, or Vaśa 'gainst Dasavraja,
As, Maghavan, to Kaṇva at the sacred feast, to Dirghanitha thine home-friend, As to Gosarya thou, Stone-darter, gavest wealth, give me a gold-bright stall of kine.
