With his radiant, all-seeing eye, Varuṇa beholds every moving creature, watching with unfailing vigilance. Across the vastness of the sky, the Sun, too, journeys on his shining path, his rays illuminating the births and lives of men. Seven bay steeds draw the divine Sun’s chariot, their manes brilliant, their vision keen, carrying him as he surveys the world. The Sun, child of the chariot, has yoked to himself seven swift mares, self-driven, with whom he travels the heavens. To this radiant lord, hymns flow swiftly, as eager and devoted as cows rushing to their calf. These songs pour forth, shining and abundant, rich in light and nourishment, as a mother brings forth her newborn from the depths of her heart. Fame, armed with the power of the thunderbolt, brings to the dying man the gifts of life, clarified butter, and milk—restoring and sustaining him. The spotted cow steps forward, seeking her mother and searching for her father, advancing with purpose. Within the luminous realms, the mighty buffalo moves, his breath and exhalation declaring the presence of light. With thirty abodes, he shines forth, and the bird of speech soars high, answering the call of the radiant dawns. When the mighty one ascended speech and sought mastery over the midspace, the gods rejoiced together, delighting in his strength. O mighty one, empower speech with boldness, make the voice wide and unconquerable, and let your joy be most exalted in heaven. Empower speech with courage, let the abode of law shine, and may those who have prepared the sacred grass rejoice. We praise Indra, wondrous and exhilarating, the conqueror of death, with our hymns—just as cows praise their calf in the stall. We seek the shining, generous, and powerful one, surrounded by strength, like a mountain overflowing with treasures, food, wealth, and cattle in abundance. I approach your heroic power, Indra, that sacred wisdom of old by which you aided the striving Bhrigus in their quest for riches and protected Praskanva. By your strength, you set the great rivers in motion and made the ocean flow; your greatness, O Indra, is undiminished, unconquered by the earth. Who among mortals is worthy to praise the swift Atasīna horses? None can fully encompass his greatness and power, though many have sung of him. When do the singers, the righteous, the inspired, call upon the god? Which sage, which wise man invokes him? O generous Indra, when will you come to the pressed Soma, to the song of praise? Now let us praise Indra, the bestower of riches, as is fitting—he, the generous one, who grants singers abundant wealth by the thousands. Like one with a hundred armies, he advances with might, striking down foes for the worshipper; his gifts, rich in enjoyment, flow like rivers from a mountain. So let us sing to the famed, wealth-giving Indra, for he grants desirable treasures to those who press Soma and sing, magnifying them as if by thousands. His countless weapons, vast and unconquered, are always with him; like a mountain, abundance flows among the generous when the pressed Somas are plentiful. We, having pressed Soma, gather around you, O slayer of Vṛtra, as waters surround the sacrificial grass; at the outpourings of the purifier, the singers assemble. Men call to you at the pressing, O giver of wealth, with their hymns—when will you return home, O Indra, longing for the pressed Soma, like a bull roaring for its herd? With the Kanvas, we seek you, mighty one of firm banner and a thousand gifts, generous and splendid among men; may we swiftly gain the cattle. Who knows him, who at the pressing is accompanied and whose mind is set? This one shatters forts with his power, delighting in the strong Soma. Like a wild beast, an elephant, he sets his course in many places; at the pressing, none can restrain you, O mighty one, nor can your coming be checked. Fierce, unopposed, steadfast, and prepared for battle—if you hear the singer’s call, O generous one, do not let Indra go to the woman. All the hosts, together with their allies, have fashioned Indra for kingship—wise, excellent, best of gifts, mighty, powerful, and energetic. The shouts resound together for Indra to drink Soma; when he, the lord of light, grows strong and steadfast, he advances with might and his bands. The spokes bow to the rim, the singers bow their voices to the ram; may your swift, well-disposed, and gentle ones, O powerful one, bring their songs to your ears. We call upon Indra, the generous and mighty, upholder of sacrifice, whose powers are unconquered, the greatest in song, worthy of worship. May the wielder of the bolt make all our paths auspicious and grant us wealth. Whatever strength you, Indra, have brought from the lords of light among the gods, increase it for this singer and for those who sit upon the sacrificial grass. To whom you have given the horse, the cow, the unfailing share—place that with the sacrificer, the Soma-presser, the giver of gifts; do not grant it to the niggard. Indra has grown strong with exhilaration and with men, as the slayer of Vṛtra, for might. We call upon him in this great battle, in this contest—may he enter us for victory. For you, Indra, are a heroic warrior, granting abundant spoils; you are the strength of the weak, the provider for the worshipper; much wealth is yours for the Soma-presser. When the prizes are called for the bold, when wealth is set for the contest, harness your exhilarated steeds; whom will you strike, whom will you enrich? Indra, may you grant us those riches. With joy, grant us herds of cattle, you of straight intent; gather for us many hundreds, on the right and the left, seize the wealth, shower us with treasure, and bring it here. Rejoice in the pressed Soma, be present for strength and bounty, O mighty one. For we know you as the giver of many gifts; we send our desires to you—so then, be our protector.