All beings, from the multitudes of people to the very things that wither and age, find their abiding place in Indra. Within him, O generous one, the decrees of the cosmos follow their ordained order. It is Indra who has accomplished these mighty deeds—he is famed for surpassing all others, the bestower of prizes among the generous. Indra sets forth the chariot in pursuit of cattle, and even from afar, he brings it safely home. He is the carrier of wealth, the bearer of abundance for his devotees. This inspired one provides horses, slays Vṛtra with the aid of men, and stands as a true protector, ever accomplishing his tasks. Therefore, let us worship Indra with dear offerings and united minds, for he has become true through the Somas—he is the undeceived. The Kanvas sing of Gāthaśravas, the true lord, desiring glory, whose wide renown is celebrated, the winner of prizes. Indra, even unasked, gives cattle from his dwelling; he is a friend to men and powerful—those who seek him find their desires fulfilled. O stone-splitter, you have made the wise Kāṇva, the pure guest, like a ram, when you led him forth. Grant, O Vibhindu, to him four tens of thousands, and eight thousand more beyond. And as for those who are nourished by milk, let them not be deprived of the joy of battle; may we be born for that very purpose. Indra, drink of the pressed, exhilarating Soma; delight in the cattle-rich offering. Be our ally, O companion at the feast, for our increase—may your thoughts protect us. Place us in your good favor, O prize-giver; do not let us fall before the hostile one. Protect us with your wondrous aids and lead us into your kindness. May these songs of mine, O far-seeing one, increase your greatness. Bright in color, pure, and wise, they approach you with praise. This one, mighty with a thousand seers, has spread out like the ocean—true is his greatness. I praise his power in sacrifices, in the sovereignty of the inspired. To Indra alone, for the sake of the gods, at the offering, in the assembly, the forest-dwellers call—for the gaining of wealth. By his greatness, Indra has spread the two worlds; by his power, he made the sun shine. In Indra, all beings are contained; in him, the pressed Somas are strong. To you, Indra, the ancient drinkers, the Ayus, sing with praises; the Ribhus, in harmony, have sung together; the Rudras praise the ancient one. Indra has grown in manly power and strength through the exhilaration of the pressed Soma. Today, as in former times, the Ayus praise his greatness. To you, I approach for heroic strength, for that sacred power of ancient insight by which you brought wealth to the Bhrigus, for the benefit of the devout, and aided Praskanva. By your manly might, O Indra, you released the great rivers to the ocean. Your greatness does not diminish, for even the earth has not subdued you. Grant us, Indra, that wealth for which I seek you—heroic strength. Grant first to the eager one the prize; grant the ancient praise. Grant us, as you aided the people’s leader in his striving, as you protected Rushama, Shyavaka, and Kripa, O Indra, bestower of sunlight. Let mortals praise the Kannavas, the Atasinas, the swift, for truly none have attained the measure of Indra’s greatness, though they praise him. Who, praising, who, seeking truth, who, O god, what sage, what inspired one, truly knows you? When, O generous Indra, will you come to the call of the one who presses and praises? Upward rise these most honeyed songs, these praises—the unwearied, wealth-seeking, victorious, like chariots hastening for the prize. Like the Kanvas, like the Bhrigus, like the Suns, all the inspired ones have praised; with hymns they magnified Indra, the beloved Medhasas sang aloud. Yoke, O slayer of Vritra, your two bays, Indra, from afar; come near, generous one, to the Soma-drink, mighty, come with the eager ones. These poets, these wise ones, have longed for you with thought, for the gaining of wisdom. So you, generous Indra, lover of song, like a singer, listen to our call. You, Indra, struck down Vritra with the great bows; you destroyed the cunning of the Arbuda, the wild beast; you drove the mountain’s cows out. Fire was extinguished, the sun was extinguished, the Soma’s vital essence was extinguished, O Indra; from the midspace, you cast down the great demon—this, Indra, is your manly deed. Among all, O Maruts, Indra shines by his own nature, running as if in the sky—the difficult one, the Pākasthāma, the Kaurayāṇa. The red one for me, the Pākasthāma, the well-yoked, broad-flanked, undeceived, awakener. By whom, ten others carry the yoke, the fires, like birds to their nest. Soul from the father, body as garment, giver of strength as ointment—the fourth, the red one, the Pākasthāma, the generous, the giver, I have declared. Whenever, Indra, you are invoked by men to the east, west, north, or south, then among many peoples you are renowned as a helper, a champion for Turvasha. Or when, in the house of Ruma, Rushama, Shyavaka, or Kripa, you delight, Indra, together with them—the Kanvas, with hymns and praises, invite you, Indra, to come. As a thirsty bull comes to water, not hostile, so come to us, to our fathers and grandfathers; come, O Indra, drink with the Kanvas, delight in the pressed Soma. Let the exhilarating drops gladden you, O bountiful Indra, for the generous one who presses Soma. You drank the Soma of that one—the best pressed draught—and with that strength you gained might. With force, you created strength, you shattered anger with your power; all the warriors, O Indra, who opposed you, were subdued like trees cut down. He is joined by thousands, ever younger, who brings you praise; he makes his son foremost in manliness, and wins gifts with words of reverence. Thus, the glory, generosity, and might of Indra are celebrated, and the faithful, by their hymns and offerings, invite his presence and protection, seeking his blessings for strength, wealth, and victory.