May Agni, radiant lord of wealth and splendor, hear our songs as a river listens to its source. We invoke him, the divine sign, whose brilliance is vast, with our hymns. With reverence, we bow to the great and the small, to the young and the old alike. We worship the gods as best as we are able, offering homage to all. O gods, do not withhold the praise that is due to those greater than ourselves. In the place where the broad-based stone stands upright, ready for pressing, the sound of the mortar rings out, born of the pounding. Indra, the mighty, knows this clattering well. Where two stones, shaped as if from the hips, are set for pressing, again the mortar’s song resounds, and Indra is mindful of its music. Where the woman learns both to press and to gather, there too the mortar’s voice rises, and Indra hears. Where the churn is bound with cords, as if with measured reins, the sound of the mortar is heard, and Indra knows its call. Whenever you, O mortar, are harnessed in each home, speak forth with your brightest sound, like a victorious drum resounding in triumph. Even the wind stirs you, O tree-born mortar, at your very tip; now press the Soma, O mortar, so that Indra may drink. The prize-seekers are summoned; they come forth, strong and eager, like horses devouring their fodder. Today, O trees, with your mighty pressers, prepare the honeyed Soma for Indra. Pour out the remnants from the cup, let the Soma flow through the filter, and place it upon the cow’s hide. Though we are true Soma-drinkers, we sometimes feel powerless. Indra, shower us with your favor among cows, among horses, among splendid treasures and thousands of riches, O generous one. Wielder of the whip, lord of prizes, powerful in your deeds—Indra, grant us your grace among all these. Put to sleep those who are hostile, let them remain unaware, and grant us your favor, O Indra, among all that is abundant and good. Let those who oppose us be defeated, and let the generous be awakened, O hero. Come to us, Indra, with your favor—among cattle, among horses, among splendid, thousandfold riches, O bountiful one. Strike down the braying ass, the one who brings harm, and come to us with your blessings. As the wind sweeps the dust far from the forest, so drive away all that would hinder us. Destroy every outcry, silence the biting horse, and come to us with your abundant gifts. As those who strive for victory, we pour out the Soma for Indra—the mighty, the hundred-powered, the most exalted. He who possesses a hundred pure ones, or a thousand well-fed, stands firm and unwavering, like a river that does not sink. When, for exhilaration, Indra unites with the Soma, his strength swells within him, vast as the ocean. Your word, O Indra, is never neglected, though it may be hidden like a pigeon in the womb. O lord of gifts, singer of praises, hero, may your glory be renowned and your fame ever true. Stand upright for our aid, O hundred-powered one, in this contest; let us speak together as allies and friends. In every alliance, in every contest, we call upon Indra, the strongest, for help. May he come, if he hears, with thousands of aids and prizes to our invocation. I call upon the ancient home, the greatly wise, whom your father called upon before you. Desiring all blessings, we call upon you, O much-invoked, as a friend, O generous one, for the sake of the singers. Among us, O drinker of Soma, among the Soma-drinkers, O friend with the thunderbolt, among friends—so let it be. Do as you wish for our benefit. May our gatherings with Indra be rich and full of great prizes, so that we may rejoice. By your own strength, come to us, O bold one, as the axle comes to the wheel. Whenever, O Hundred-Powered Indra, you fulfill the desire of the singers, you never fail in your protection, through your mighty powers. Indra has ever triumphed over the swelling ones, over the boastful, and over those who are hostile to wealth; may he, who rides the golden chariot and wields sharp weapons, be our giver and provider, granting us his bounty. O Ashvins, wondrous ones, come to this horse-bearing rite with your strength, bringing cows and gold. Your chariot, O wondrous and immortal Ashvins, is yoked the same for every journey; it moves upon the ocean’s expanse. You have set the wheel of your chariot on the head of the Night; another circles around the sky. O Dawn, beloved of all, which mortal has enjoyed your immortal presence? Whom do you favor, O shining one? We have called to you from near and far, like summoning a splendid, red horse. Come to us with these prizes, O daughter of the sky, and bestow wealth upon us.