To Indra have the Soma drops, exceeding rich in sweets, been poured, Shed in the seat of sacrifice.
As mother kine low to their calves, to Indra have the sages called, Called him to drink the Soma juice.
In the stream's wave wise Soma dwells, distilling rapture, in his seat, Resting upon a wiId-cow's hide.
Far-sighted Soma, Sage and Seer, is worshipped in the central point Of heaven, the straining-cloth of wool.
In close embraces Indu holds Soma when poured within the jars. And on the. purifying sieve.
Indu sends forth a voice on high to regions of the sea of air, Shaking the vase that drops with meath.
The Tree whose praises never fail yields heavenly milk among our hymns, Urging men's generations on.
The Wise One, with the Sage's stream, the Soma urged to speed, flows on To the dear places of the sky.
O Pavamana, bring us wealth bright with a thousand splendours. Yea. O Indu, give us ready help.
