HITHERWARD have the Soma streamed, the drops while they are purified: When bIent, in waters they are rinsed.
The milk hath run to meet them like floods rushing down a precipice: They come to Indra, being cleansed.
O Soma Pavamana, thou art flowing to be Indra's drink: The men have seized and lead thee forth.
Victorious, to be hailed with joy, O Soma, flow, delighting men, To him who ruleth o’er mankind.
Thou, Indu, when, effused by stones, thou runnest to the filter, art, Ready for Indra's high decree.
Flow on, best Vṛtra-slayer; flow meet to be hailed with joyful lauds. Pure, purifying, wonderful.
Pure, purifying is he called the Soma of the meath eflused, Slayer of sinners, dear to Gods.
