MADE pure by this man's urgent zeal and impulse the God hath to the Gods his juice imparted. He goes, effused and singing, to the filter, like priest to measured seats supplied with cattle.
Robed in fair raiment meet to wear in battle, a mighty Sage pronouncing invocations. Roll onward to the beakers as they cleanse thee, far-seeing at the feast of Gods, and watchful.
Dear, he is brightened on the fleecy summit, a Prince among us, nobler than the noble. Roar out as thou art purified, run forward. Do ye preserve us evermore with blessings.
Let us sing praises to the Gods: sing loudly, send ye the Soma forth for mighty riches. Let him flow, sweetly-flavoured, through the filter, and let our pious one rest in the pitcher.
Winning the friendship of the Deities, Indu flows in a thousand streams to make them joyful. Praised by the men after the ancient statute, he hath come nigh, for our great bliss, to Indra.
Flow, Gold-hued, cleansing thee, to enrich the singer: let thy juice go to Indra to support him. Come nigh, together with the Gods, for bounty. Do ye preserve us evermore with blessings.
The God declares the Deities' generations, like Uśanā, proclaiming lofty wisdom. With brilliant kin, far-ruling, sanctifying, the Boar advances, singing, to the places.
The Swans, the Vrsaganas from anear us have brought their restless spirit to our dwelling. Friends come to Pavamana meet for praises, and sound in concert their resistless music.
He follows the Wide-strider's rapid movement: cows low, as ’twere, to him who sports at pleasure. He with the sharpened horns brings forth abundance: the Silvery shines by night, by day the Golden.
Strong Indu, bathed in milk, flows on for Indra, Soma exciting strength, to make him joyful. He quells malignities and slays the demons, the King of mighty power who brings us comfort.
Then in a stream he flows, milked out with press-stones, mingled with sweetness, through the fleecy filter- Indu rejoicing in the love of Indra, the God who gladdens, for the God's enjoyment.
As he is purified he pours out treasures, a God bedewing Gods with his own juices. Indu hath, wearing qualities by seasons, on the raised fleece engaged, the ten swift fingers.
The Red Bull bellowing to the kine advances, causing the heavens and earth to roar and tbunder. Well is he beard like Indra's shout in battle: letting this voice be known he hastens hither.
Swelling with milk, abounding in sweet flavours, urging the meath-rich plant thou goest onward. Raising a shout thou flowest as they cleanse thee, when thou, O Soma, art effused for Indra.
So flow thou on inspiriting, for rapture, aiming deatb-shafts at him who stays the waters, Flow to us wearing thy resplendent colour, effused and eager for the kine, O Soma.
Pleased with us, Indu, send us as thou flowest good easy paths in ample space and comforts. Dispelling, as ’twere with a club, misfortunes, run o’er the height, run o’er the fleecy summit.
Pour on us rain celestial, quickly streaming, refreshing, fraught with health and ready bounty. Flow, Indu, send these Winds thy lower kinsmen, setting them free like locks of hair unbraided.
Part, like a knotted tangle, while they cleanse thee, O Soma, righteous and unrighteous conduct. Neigh like a tawny courser who is loosened, come like a youth, O God, a house-possessor.
For the God's service, for delight, O Indu, run o’er the height, run o'ver the fleecy summit. With thousand streams, inviolate, sweet-scented, flow on for gain of strength that conquers heroes.
Without a car, without a rein to guide them, unyoked, like coursers started in the contest, These brilliant drops of Soma juice run forward. Do ye, O Deities, come nigh to drink them.
So for our banquet of the Gods, O Indu, pour down the rain of heaven into the vessels. May Soma grant us riches sought with longing, mighty, exceeding strong, with store of heroes.
What time the loving spirit's word had formed him Chief of all food, by statute of the Highest, Then loudly lowing came the cows to Indu, the chosen, well-loved Master in the beaker.
The Sage, Celestial, liberal, raining bounties, pours as he flows the Genuine for the Truthful. The King shall be effectual strength's upholder: he by the ten bright reins is mostly guided.
He who beholds mankind, made pure with filters, the King supreme of Deities and mortals, From days of old is Treasure-Lord of riches: he, Indu, cherishes fair well-kept Order.
Haste, like a steed, to vittory for glory, to Indra's and to Vāyu's entertainment. Give us food ample, thousandfold: be, Soma, the finder-out of riches when they cleanse thee.
Effused by us let God-delighting Somas bring as they flow a home with noble heroes. Rich in all boons like priests acquiring favour, the worshippers of heaven, the best of Cheerers.
So, God, for service of the Gods flow onward, flow, drink of Gods, for ample food, O Soma. For we go forth to war against the mighty make heaven and earth well stablished by thy cleansing.
Thou, yoked by strong men, neighest like a courser, swifter than thought is, like an awful lion. By paths directed hitherward, the straightest, send thou us happiness, Indu, while they cleanse thee.
Sprung from the Gods, a hundred streams, a thousand, have been effused: sages prepare and purge them. Bring us from heaven the means of winnning, Indu; thou art-forerunnner of abundant riches.
The streams of days, were poured as ’twere from heaven: the wise King doth not treat his friend unkindly. Like a son following his father's wishes, grant to this family success and safety.
Now are thy streams poured forth with all their sweetness, when, purified. thou goest through the filter. The race of kine is thy gift, Pavarridna: when born thou madest Sūrya rich with brightness.
Bright, bellowing aiong the path of Order, thou shinest as the form of life eternal. Thou flowest on as gladdening drink for Indra, sending thy voice out with the hymns of sages.
Pouring out streams at the Gods’ feast with service, thou, Soma, lookest down, a heavenly Eagle. Enter the Soma-holding beaker, Indu, and with a roar approach the ray of Sarya.
Three are the voices that the Courser utters: he speaks the thought of prayer, the law of Order. To the Cow's Master come the Cows inquiring: the hymns with eager longing come to Soma.
To Soma come the Cows, the Milch-kine longing, to Soma sages with their hvmns inquiring. Soma, effused, is purified and blended our hymns and Tṛṣṭup songs unite in Soma.
Thus, Soma, as we pour thee into vessels, while thou art purified flow for our welfare. Pass into Indra with a mighty roaring make the voice swell, and generate abundance.
Singer of true songs, ever-watchful, Soma hath settled in the ladles when they cleanse him. Him the Adhvaryus, paired and eager, follow, leaders of sacrifice and skilful-handed.
Cleansed near the Sun as ’twere he as Creator hath filled full heaven and earth, and hath disclosed them. He by whose dear help men gain all their wishes shall yield the precious meed as to a victor.
He, being cleansed, the Strengthener and Increaser, Soma the Bounteous, helped us with his lustre, Wherewith our sires of old who knew the footsteps found light and stole the cattle from the mountain.
In the first vault of heaven loud roared the Ocean, King of all being, generating creatures. Steer, in the filter, on the fleecy summit, Soma, the Drop effused, hath waxen mighty.
Soma the Steer, in that as Child of Waters he chose the Gods, performed that great achievement. He, Pavamana, granted strength to Indra; he, Indu, generated light in Sūrya.
Make Vāyu glad,, for furtherance and bounty: cheer Varuṇa and Mitra, as they cleanse thee. Gladden the Gods, gladden the host of Maruts: make Heaven and Earth rejoice, O God, O Soma.
Flow onward righteous slayer of the wicked, driving away our enemies and sickness, Blending thy milk with milk which cows afford us. We are thy friends, thou art the Friend of Indra.
Pour us a fount of meath, a spring of treasure; send us a hero son and happy fortune. Be sweet to India when they cleanse thee, Indu, and pour down riches on us from the ocean.
Strong Soma, pressed, like an impetuous courser, hath flowed in stream as a flood speeding downward. Cleansed, he hath settled in his wooden dwelling: Indu hath flowed with milk and with the waters.
Strong, wise, for thee who longest for his coming this Soma here flows to the bowls, O Indra. He, chariot-borne, sun-bright, and truly potent, was poured forth like the longing of the pious.
He, purified with ancient vital vigour, pervading all his Daughter's forms and figures, Finding his threefold refuge in the waters, goes singing, as a priest, to the assemblies.
Now, chariot-borne, flow unto us, God Soma, as thou art purified flow to the saucers, Sweetest in waters, rich in meath, and holy, as Savitar the God is, truthfulminded.
To feast him, flow mid song and hymn, to Vāyu, flow purified to Varuṇa and Mitra. Flow to the song-inspiring car-borne Hero, to mighty Indra, him who wields the thunder.
Pour on us garments that shall clothe us meetly, send, purified, miIch-kine, abundant yielders. God Soma, send us chariot-drawing horses that they may bring us treasures bright and golden.
Send to us in a stream celestial riches, send us, when thou art cleansed, what earth containeth, So that thereby we may acquire possessions and Rsihood in Jamadagni's manner.
Pour forth this wealth with this purification: flow onward to the yellow lake, O Indu. Here, too, the Ruddy, wind-swift, full of wisdom, Shall give a son to him who cometh quickly.
Flow on for us with this purification to the famed ford of thee whose due is glory. May the Foe-queller shake us down, for triumph, like a tree's ripe fruit, sixty thousand treasures.
Eagerly do we pray for those two exploits, at the blue lake and Prsana, wrought in battle. He sent our enemies to sleep and slew thern, and turned away the foolish and unfriendly.
Thou comest unto three extended filters, and hasteriest through each one as they cleanse thee. Thou art the giver of the gift, a Bhaga, a Maghavan for liberal lords, O Indu.
This Soma here, the Wise, the All-obtainer, flows on his way as King of all existence. Driving the drops at our assemblies, Indu completely traverses the fleecy filter.
The Great Inviolate are kissing Indu, and singing in his place like eager sages. The wise men send him forth with ten swift fingers, and balm his form with essence of the waters.
Soma, may we, with thee as Pavamana, pile up together all our spoil in battle. This boon vouchsafe us Varuṇa and Mitra, and Aditi and Sindhu, Earth and Heaven.
