From distant places, the ears of the mighty Indra, ever attentive, resound to the thunderous voice that proclaims his greatness. Even from afar, the invocation of the gods turns toward him, and the Madra woman lifts her hymn in song, honoring Indra with devotion. With the highest thoughts, sages and seekers have approached Indra, the ageless one, since ancient times, offering their hymns. Into him, the sacred utterances and songs are placed, and thus, great praise continues to grow upon Indra, ever increasing his renown. Sacrifice itself nourishes him; Soma, the sacred chant, the songs, the hymns, and every word of praise—all these increase Indra’s strength. The dawns and the paths of night, the months and the years, the very heavens, all contribute to the growth of Indra’s might. So do I praise him, the one born for strength, exalted for his generosity and famed throughout the worlds. O mighty and fierce Indra, wise protector, be present for us now—let us call upon you in our battles against the foe. Of the delightful poet, the heavenly fire, the sage—of the mind, the speech, and the honeyed words—may we gain the favor of that divine companion, O youthful one, for the singer who seeks the cows. Indra, shining in his glory, circles the mountains and the dawns, his thoughts aligned with truth and yoked to righteousness. He breaks the rugged ridges and the summits of the valleys; with the power of his words, Indra strikes down the Panis, the hoarders. Radiant, he illuminates nights and days, the passing seasons—Indra, whose sign is placed for the days even now. Born pure, he fashions the dawns, bringing light anew. He brightens the world with his radiance, filling the ancient ones with truth. Riding horses yoked to righteousness, he knows the path of the sun; the leaders travel at the navel of the world, guided by him. Now, the singer raises praise to you, ancient king. Enrich the treasures of old for the generous giver—remove the herbs, the forests, the cows, the horses, the men—and grant them for our delight. Indra, come and drink the Soma pressed for your delight; let your steeds be released for companionship. Come, sing, gather, and sit with the hosts; come to the sacrifice, accept our praise and vigor. Drink of this Soma, Indra, for which you were born, for delight and for power. You, wide-seeing one, have drunk before. For you alone, the cows, the men, the waters, and the mountains have brought the Soma for drinking. When the fire is kindled and the Soma pressed, let your best horses bring you here, Indra. With devoted mind, I call you—come for our great welfare and blessing. Come, Indra, with constant longing and great mind, to drink the Soma. Listen to our hymns, and let the sacrifice grant vigor to your body. Wherever you are, Indra—in the heavenly realm, in righteousness, or in your own abode—wherever you dwell, come to our sacrifice with your companions, drink, O singer, with the Maruts. Without hindrance, come to the sacrifice, for you the Soma juices are purified. Like cows in your own home, O wielder of the thunderbolt, come, Indra, be foremost among those worthy of sacrifice. With that which is made for you by Kakutstha, with that which is best, with which you always drink the honeyed wave—drink with it. The priest has set it before you; let your thunderbolt be ready for the cows. This drop, the bull of all forms, Soma, has been prepared for you, Indra the mighty. Drink this, O golden one, steadfast and fierce, whose food you desire in the highest heaven. The Soma is pressed, Indra, for your delight—this one is better for the wise in battle. Come, Titirva, approach the sacrifice, and with it fill all the powerful ones. We call upon you, Indra—come near. Let this Soma be strength for your body. O hundred-powered one, rejoice in the pressings; may you bring us victory in battles and among the peoples. Bring to him who desires to drink, who knows all things, everything for his approach and journey; for the man who comes from afar, for the eager one. With these Somas, approach him, the drinker of Soma; with the pressed and pure juices, Indra the victorious, with the extracted drops. When you adorn him with the pressed drops, with the Somas, the wise one knows all; the bold one, the woven thread, seeks him. For him, O Adhvaryu, bring forth the pressed Soma; perhaps through the might of this powerful, conquering one, we shall overcome the attack of the hostile. By whose exhilaration you broke Śambara for Divodāsa, this Soma, Indra, is pressed for you—drink. By whose strong, pressed exhilaration you protected the middle and the end, this Soma, Indra, is pressed for you—drink. By whose exhilaration among the cows you released the firm ones from the stone, this Soma, Indra, is pressed for you—drink. By whose joy in Soma you bore mighty power for the generous one, this Soma, Indra, is pressed for you—drink. He who is the most bountiful of riches, most endowed with glory—this pressed Soma, Indra, is your exhilaration, Lord of power. He who is most liberal, abundantly generous, the giver of wealth and wisdom—this pressed Soma, Indra, is your exhilaration, Lord of power. By whom the strong is not overcome, nor the swift by their own aids—this pressed Soma, Indra, is your exhilaration, Lord of power. That unconquered lord of might I praise for you, Indra—the all-powerful man, the greatest, the universal protector. Him whom the hymns magnify, the lord of abundant gifts, him the two divine worlds, the goddesses, honor for his strength. That seat of praise I spread for Indra, like rivers whose waves rush forth, where the dwellers move apart. Mitra, ever new, discovered skill; drinking, he became the most generous among the gods. With the Taulā and Dhautari hymns, he became a wide protector for his friends. On the path of truth, the wise one drank; for glory, the gods made their minds. Bearing the name of greatness, with words they fashioned a form for vision—the shining one, the weaver. Bestow upon us the most radiant skill; drive away the ancient hostilities of men. Make our life longer with your powers; grant us the gaining of wealth—be mindful of us. Indra, for you alone, O bountiful one, we have not failed in giving. O wielder of the tawny steeds, do not abandon us. No one else among mortals has been seen as generous; how then could anyone call you reluctant to give? Do not, O bull, turn away from us in your thunder; do not let us lose your friendship, O radiant one. Indra, grant us your ancient and new favors among people; drive away those who are hostile, and uplift those who praise you. Like thunder rising from the clouds, Indra brings forth wealth of horses and cattle. You are the giver from the heavens, O singer; let none who seeks your gifts, O generous one, be disappointed. O sacrificer, hero, bring forth the pressed offerings for Indra, for he is their lord. He who has grown strong through both ancient and new praises, through the songs of the chanting sages, is ever worthy of our honor.