The inspired sages, bearers of sacred hymns, gathered together in devotion, their voices swift and eager. Their praises, pure as clarified butter, flowed forth to the place where truth dwells. There, Aditi herself, sovereign of the sun, composed a hymn in honor of Indra, and the many-praised aids of the gods gathered where truth resided. The worshippers called upon Agni, the Fire, seeking his help and praise, for the divine steeds of truth never falter or turn aside. They remembered how, O Indra, you have rejoiced in the Soma, sometimes with Vishnu at your side, at other times with Trita Āptya, or in joyful company with the Maruts, as the sacred drops flowed. O Shakra, whether you found delight on the distant ocean, may you, with those life-giving drops, be our ally in battle. Or, mighty one, when you became the strength of the pressing priest, O lord of beneficence, or when you delighted in his hymn and the Soma, your presence was a source of joy. To each god, and especially to Indra for help, the worshipper sang with devotion. The sacrifice was prepared for Turvaṇa, and with offerings and Somas for the mighty drinker, Indra was magnified and honored. Great are your guidances, Indra, and abundant your praises; all treasures have you bestowed upon those who worship you. For the slaying of Vṛtra, the gods placed Indra at the forefront, and the singers invoked him for strength. With hymns, they praised the mighty one, renowned for greatness and ever attentive to the call of his devotees, seeking strength through their songs. Neither the separated heavens and earth nor the vast spaces can contain Indra, the wielder of the thunderbolt, in his impetuous might. When, O Indra, in the heat of battle, the gods set you at the front, your two bay steeds bore you onward. When, O mighty wielder of the bolt, you slew the obstructing Vṛtra with your power, your steeds again carried you forward. When Vishnu, with his strength, strode forth in three great steps for you, your steeds bore you on. As your two bay steeds grew stronger each day, all the worlds submitted to your will. When the hosts of Maruts were yoked for you, Indra, all the worlds acknowledged your supremacy. When you established the shining sun as light in the sky, all the worlds submitted to you. For you, Indra, the inspired one raises this excellent praise with his thoughts, as a kinsman seeks favor at the sacred rite. In your beloved abode, the worshippers sang in harmony for you at the navel of the sacrifice, where the milkers performed their rites. O Indra, grant us heroic strength, fine horses, and good cattle, as the Hotṛ priest bestows upon those who have gone before at the sacrifice. Indra, in the pressed Somas, purifies his power and his praise; he is truly great, possessing the wisdom of the mighty. He, the ancient one, sits in the first heaven, in the seat of the gods, mighty, skillful, renowned, and victorious in battles. We call upon that Indra, full of might, to win the prize; be for us, O friend, gracious and supportive. Your bounty, O Indra, lover of song, flows to the one who presses the Soma; delighting in your seat, you shine forth. Now, O Indra, grant us what we, the Soma-pressers, seek from you—bring us splendid wealth, full of light. The wise praiser exalts you with his songs; as birds follow their mother, so do we seek your favor. Hear, as of old, the songs of the singer; listen to the call of the worshipper, and, rejoicing, increase the doer of good. Your gracious gifts play like waters rushing down a slope; thus, you are called the Lord of Heaven. The Lord of peoples, the sole master, is invoked with reverence and prayers at the Soma pressing. Praise him who is famed and wise, whose two steeds are ever victorious, who comes to the worshipper’s house and is honored with reverence. Eager for great wealth, come with your horses, O Indra, with those who scatter the life-giving waters; come swiftly to the sacrifice—may it please you. Indra, most powerful, lord of the good, support wealth for those who praise you; grant immortal fame and riches to the noble ones. At sunrise and midday, we call to you, O Indra; accepting our call, come to us with your team of horses. Come here, hasten forward, delight in the pressed Soma rich in cows, and weave the ancient thread as you alone know how. Whatever you do, O slayer of Vṛtra, whether far or near, or even in the sea, you are ever the protector of the Soma draught. May our songs strengthen Indra, may the pressed Somas strengthen Indra, and may the worshipful hosts kindle Indra at the offerings. The inspired ones, seeking help, have magnified Indra with their flowing praises; the earths have nurtured Indra, as mothers nurture their sons. The gods have labored for awareness in the threefold pressing; let our hymns ever increase you, O Indra, ever-growing. The faithful praiser has composed hymns in due order; pure and radiant, you are called wondrous.