O Indra, mighty and much-invoked, the people call upon you to drive the enemy far away, to keep danger at a distance. Grant us, they pray, the bounty of barley and cattle, and bestow upon the singer wisdom and the strength that wins prizes. Those who approach you, Indra, clothed in strength and filled with swift, abundant Somas, never restrain their generosity; to the one who presses Soma, you bring great wealth. There are those, too, who, desiring the gods, do not withhold their riches, but distribute them at the right moment, as deftly as a slaughtering-knife divides the offering. Such a giver wins by day, dividing his wealth like a completed task, and with his own means brings forth a stream of riches. With cows, barley, and grain, O much-invoked Indra, drive away from us hunger and evil intent. May we, unharmed, stand foremost among kings in wealth, victorious with our bands. May Bṛhaspati protect us from behind, from above, and below, shielding us from harm; may Indra, our friend, stand before us and in our midst, making us superior to our companions. Bṛhaspati, the breaker of the rock, first-born, upholder of order, son of Aṅgiras, rich in offerings and with double shelter, sits by the hearth like a father. As the bull, he roars between heaven and earth. For those who call upon him, Bṛhaspati has fashioned a world in the invocation of the gods; he strikes down adversaries, shatters fortresses, and conquers enemies in battle. He has won treasures, this god of great wealth, lord of cattle; seeking the waters, inspired by the sun, he strikes down the foe with his hymns. In the beginning, the father found a lofty thought, born of truth, seven-headed. He generated a fourth, universal offspring, and from him the hymn was composed in praise of Indra. Proclaiming truth, shining straight, the sons of heaven—the Aṅgirases—holding the wise one’s place, contemplate the first abode of sacrifice. Like swans, speaking together with friends, breaking through stone enclosures, Bṛhaspati, roaring loudly, approached the cows. He sent forth a high song; the wise one sang. At the boundary of falsehood, two by two and one apart, the cows stood hidden. Seeking light in the darkness, Bṛhaspati brought forth three shining ones from their enclosure. Splitting the western fortress, he cut through three together with the ocean. Bṛhaspati, thundering like the sky, discovered the dawn, the sun, the cows, and the light. Indra, with his mighty roar, cut through Vala, the guardian of the milch cows, as with a hand. Desiring the butter-clad treasure, he made the Paṇis weep and released the cows. With shining, truthful companions, he shattered the iron fortress with his wealth. Bṛhaspati, with bulls of chosen strength and the heat of their sweat, distributed the riches. With true minds, they sought the lord of cows, advancing with inspired thoughts. Bṛhaspati, through mutual praises, released the shining ones with their own teams. Exalting him with auspicious thoughts, roaring like a lion in the assembly, the people rejoice in Bṛhaspati, mighty and victorious in every contest. When he harnessed the all-formed prize, he made the upper regions of heaven resound. Exalting Bṛhaspati, the mighty, the diverse ones bore the light as their banner. Grant us true blessings for long life; even the singer you help with your own aids. May all hostilities be behind us—may heaven and earth hear these prayers all around. Indra, by his greatness, thundered at the summit of the mighty serpent. He slew the serpent, released the seven rivers, and with the gods, heaven and earth, protected us. Sing forth to the lord of cattle, the mountain-king, as is fitting—to the son of truth, the true master. The tawny ones have set themselves in motion, reddish upon the sacred grass, where the assembly gathers. For Indra, the cows have milked sweet drink, the Soma, for the wielder of the thunderbolt, when he discovered it in the hidden place. Rise up to the summit of the shining one; Indra, come with the cows to the house. Having drunk the honey, be united in friendship at the thrice-seven steps of the companion. Sing praise, sing forth, you beloved in sacrifice, sing! Let the sons also sing, and boldly let their voices rise like a fortress. Let the lowing of the bull resound, let the cow circle around, let the tawny one move about—raise up the hymn for Indra. When the other, easy to milk, flies forth unwearied, seize the unwearied one—Soma—for Indra to drink. Indra drank, Agni drank, and all the gods delighted; may Varuna dwell here, and may the waters approach, like cows to their calf. You are a good god, Varuna, for whom the seven rivers flow in succession to your summit, like the sun to a clear opening. He who loosened the well-fitted yoke for the worshipper, the driver, the leader—that is the wondrous form of the one who was released. O mighty Indra, you have overcome all hatreds; you split the unboiled porridge, cooking on the far side of the mountain, with your word. Like a young boy, a child standing on the lower chariot, he apportioned the buffalo, the beast, to father and mother, with wise intent. Come, O fair-bearded lord of the household, mount the golden chariot; then, be united with the shining one, the thousand-footed, the ruddy, bringing well-being and free from harm. To him, thus, the reverent ones approach the self-ruling king; even for the sake of his wealth, they turn again and again, as for fuel for the fire. In accord with the ancient dwelling, the beloved in sacrifice have sought the former path, those who spread the sacred grass, intent on the offering. He who is king of the peoples, charioteer, unwearied, destroyer of all hosts, eldest, the slayer of Vritra—him do I praise. Glorify that Indra, much-invoked for help, in whose two hands the thunderbolt was placed, visible like the great sun in the sky. No one by action can harm him who has done ever-growing deeds; like Indra, famed everywhere, unconquered, strong in might, and full of vigor. He who is not weak, fierce in battle, unconquered, in whom great powers are set—when he is born, cows do not diminish, nor do heaven and earth decrease. Even if you, Indra, had a hundred heavens, a hundred earths, or thousands of suns, not even a thousand thunderbolts could surpass you, nor all that has been born in the eight regions.