The ancient hymn resounds once more, sung for mighty Indra, as the singer’s thoughts pour forth in praise. Many great hymns, composed in truth, rise up to honor him. Indra, whose power shakes forth abundant wealth, unites earth and sun in his embrace. The bright and pure ones—the heads of cattle and the Somas—bring him joy and delight. With reverence, the people invoke Indra, supreme among the generous, foremost among the mighty, best of benefactors, knower of cattle and lord of wealth. He, who has increased the lives of Kutsa, Atithigva, and others day by day, is called upon as the tamer of horses and possessor of a hundred powers. They pray that the flowing streams may pour forth the essence of sweetness—the Soma pressed far and near—so that its drops may bless them. They beseech Indra to destroy all hatreds and drive them away, so that all treasures may come to them. Even among the chosen, the exhilarating portions of Soma are where Indra delights. They invite him to come closer, to approach with friendly thoughts and aids, bringing the most auspicious, helpful, and restful blessings. They call upon him to make them victorious, to bring offspring and wealth, and to let those who praise him purify their strength through his powers. May they be nearest to Indra’s help in his battles, seeking his favor with offerings and divine invocations. The singer, eager for strength, always goes to the contest with praises, seeking Indra as the tamer of darkness and horses, the foremost among the eager. Indra’s heroic deeds are celebrated by poets, who honor him with songs and pour forth clarified butter, as men of old have done with their thoughts. They honor Indra for his help and good deeds, delighting him with the pressings of Soma, just as he was joyful with Samvarana and Krisha. They pray that all the gods together may come to them, that the Vasus and Rudras may aid them, and that the Maruts may hear their call. They invoke Pūṣan, Viṣṇu, and Sarasvatī to attend their prayers, and ask the seven rivers, the waters, the wind, the mountains, the lord of the forest, and the earth to hear their call. They ask Indra, most generous, to be mindful of them in the assembly, and pray that Bhaga, the giver, may increase their share for giving. They call upon Indra, slayer of Vṛtra, to lead them to strength, to grant them noble blessings for the life of people, and to pour forth nourishing food for the worshippers. Their praises rise to Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, asking him to bestow great, abundant, and splendid wealth without delay, and to gladden Praskanva with it. The many heroic deeds of Indra are proclaimed, and his wealth, fierce as a wolf, is for the enemy. A hundred white bulls shine in the sky like stars, their greatness undiminished, not pressing down the heavens. There are a hundred reeds, a hundred dogs, a hundred worn-out hides, a hundred tufts of wool, and four hundred reddish ones. The Kanva descendants are blessed, wandering from youth to youth, and their horses never tire. From the seven, they praised the fame of the abundant one; the dark ones, with dust-covered paths, are not lost even by sight. Against the enemy, Indra’s wealth appears, undiminished, like the vast strength of the sky. Ten thousand riches are spoken for Pūtakratu and for the enemy; perpetual riches remain unharmed. A hundred asses, a hundred wool-bearing ones, a hundred slaves, and many garlands are counted among their wealth. There, it was breathed for Pūtakratu, clear among the horses in the herd. Agni, wise and swift, carrier of offerings, is well yoked to the chariot. His pure flame shines brightly, and the great sun shines in the sky. The gods, yoked with ancient resolve and strength, come with their swift chariot, worthy of worship. The Nasatyas, with their powers, are invited to drink at the third pressing. The gods, three and eleven, true ones, appear before the truth, accepting the sacrifice and pressing; Ashvins, the shining ones, are called to drink Soma. The Ashvins are praised for their deeds—the bull of heaven, the realms of earth, a thousand praises, and those who seek the cow all come to drink. A portion is set for the worshipful ones; songs for the Nasatyas come near. They are asked to drink the honeyed Soma and grant gifts with their powers. The priests, mindful, prepare the sacrifice in many ways and carry it forth. The learned Brahman knows what belongs to the sacrificer. Agni alone is kindled in many ways; the sun alone spreads everywhere; Ushas alone shines over all. All this has arisen from the one. The radiant, bannered, three-wheeled chariot is called, easy to harness and often summoned, in whose union splendid gifts are born. May the Ashvins come, surpassing the empty, to drink. The shares of Indra and Varuṇa flow forth; at every sacrifice and pressing, they are present and grant the sacrificer what he seeks. The plants and waters settle down, reaching the greatness of Indra and Varuṇa; those who flow at the sky’s edge, at the end of the path, are beyond the reach of any enemy or godless one. For Indra and Varuṇa, the seven voices milk out the wave of sweet honey, protecting the worshipper, whoever is guarded by their insights. The seven sisters, ghee-shedding, gentle, ever-youthful, the abode of truth, pour out ghee for Indra and Varuṇa, granting and providing for the sacrificer. For great good fortune, the truth of their mighty, awe-inspiring power is spoken. With the three and the seven ghee-shedding ones, Indra and Varuṇa are called to protect, as lords of splendor.