May Pūṣan, the all-supporting one, along with wealth, fortune, and well-being, come to us. May the broad and open path lead us to prosperity and happiness. Let all the divine thoughts—those of the gods, the Ādityas—arrive here swiftly, untiring and unharmed. As Mitra, Aryaman, and Varuṇa are our steadfast guardians, may the paths of truth open easily before us. With heartfelt praise, I invoke Agni, the ancient god who guards the treasures. We worship him, beloved by many, like a cherished friend who brings success in our endeavors. The chariot of the godly, the hero in battle, moves swiftly; for the one who worships the gods with devotion, victory over adversaries is assured. The sacrificer, the Soma-presser, the worshipper of the gods—they do not suffer loss. Indeed, whoever worships the gods with devotion becomes one who conquers adversaries. No one is ruined by action, by women, or by desire; the devoted worshipper of the gods is ever victorious. Here, true heroism is found, along with the possession of fine horses; for he who worships the gods with devotion becomes a conqueror of adversaries. Now, let us proclaim the deeds performed by the Kanvas, O Indra, with song; let us recount the exhilaration that comes from Soma. It is you, Indra, who struck down Śṛbinda, Anarśani, Pipru, and the mighty bowman Dāsa—you, the fierce one who destroyed the waters. You stretched out the vast expanse of Arbuda, the lofty height, displaying your manly strength for all to see. To you, renowned, bold, and swift as the wind from a mountain’s summit, I call for gracious aid, O well-yoked one. Delighting in the draughts of Soma, you break open the pens of bulls and horses, O hero, as easily as you would breach a fortress. If, pleased by our pressed Soma or our hymns, you have set your mind upon us, come near with your favor. We are your singers, O Indra, lover of song. You, drinker of Soma, make us victorious. Bring us, rejoicing, a share that nourishes us unfailingly, for you, O bountiful one, possess much wealth. Grant us cattle, make us possessors of gold and horses; with your gifts, may we unite in strength. We call upon Bṛhaduktha, swift in action, for his aid, for he does good for those who seek help. In the assembly, he whose power is true, the slayer of Vṛtra, bestows wealth upon the singers. May even Śakra himself, Indra with all his aids, bring us abundant gifts. He is the great protector of riches, the sure helper, the friend of the one who presses Soma—sing to that Indra. Sing praise to the mighty, steadfast helper who comes, famed in battles, the lord of great strength. None can restrain his powers, none his generous words; no one can speak or give as he does. There is no neglect of the priests’ prayers, nor of those who press Soma; Soma is never wasted. Sing forth what is praiseworthy, declare hymns worthy of praise; perform the sacred rite with all that is praiseworthy. May abundance come to you, protected by strength, in thousands, O Indra, who increases the worshipper. Move freely among the peoples as you wish, for we have called you. Indra, drink of the pressed Soma. Drink, O Indra, with your own power, of the Soma pressed for you—drink also that which is pressed with strength, and that which is yours. Come with eager spirit to the pressed Soma at the offering; accept this gift, this Soma, which has been prepared for you. Come to these three gatherings, come to the five peoples; the cows themselves have called out to you, O Indra. As the sun releases its rays, so may my songs reach you, flowing together like waters to a common pool. O officiant, pour out the Soma for the heroic, tawny-armed one; bring the pressed Soma for his drinking. He who split open the enclosing cloud of the waters, who released the rivers, who held the cooked milk among the cows—he is Indra. He slew Vṛtra, the mighty, cloud-like archer, and with ice he struck down Arbuda. Sing the sacred hymn for the mighty, irresistible, fierce, and victorious one. In the intoxication of Soma, he surpasses all ordinances; Indra is ever mindful among the gods. See, here are his two tawny-haired steeds, companions at the feast, who bring the offering at his command. Praised by Priyamedhas, your two steeds bring you near, O much-lauded one, for the drinking of Soma. We, having pressed Soma, sit around you as waters encircle a well-covered altar; at the outpourings of the filter, O slayer of Vṛtra, your singers are assembled. Men sing to you at the pressing, O treasure-giver, with one voice, with hymns. When will you, longing for the pressed Soma, come to our home, Indra, like a bellowing bull returning to the herd?