SIT down, O friends, and sing aloud to him who purifies himself: Deck him for glory, like a child, with holy rites.
Unite him bringing household wealth, even as a calf, with mother kine, Him who hath double strength, the God, delighting juice.
Purify him who gives us power, that he, most Blessed One, may be A banquet for the Troop, Mitra, and Varuṇa.
Voices have sung aloud to thee as finderout of wealth for us: We clothe the hue thou wearest with a robe of milk.
Thou, Indu, art the food of Gods, O Sovran of all gladdening drinks: As Friend for friend, be thou best finder of success.
Drive utterly away from us each demon, each voracious fiend, The godless and the false: keep sorrow far away.
