O Indra, mighty slayer of Vṛtra, you and I are yoked together as allies. Even when we face the hostile, O stone-wielder, the hero turns his thoughts to us. Your gifts, Indra, are auspicious, bringing fortune and protection. Truly, we praise you, Indra, and not falsehood; for your wrath is great against those who do not sacrifice, but for those who offer, you bestow countless lights and blessings. He is the ancient singer of the great, ever new in his powers, by whose threshold Manu’s father brought wisdom among the gods. The stones pressed with Soma do not overstep the measure of heaven; the hymns and sacred utterances are worthy of praise. Indra, in your wisdom, you chose the cows for the Angirases, and I praise that manliness of yours. You, ancient one, grown in might by the seers, are the treasure of speech. Gracious to the hymn's offering, may you come here for our aid. Now, according to your will, let the worshippers with their cries of "Svāhā" follow you. The hymns have sought your protection, Indra, for the prosperity of the clan. In you, O Indra, are all heroic deeds accomplished and yet to be done; the hymns know you as the lord of sacrifice. When, with the people of Pañcajana, your victorious shouts resounded, you spread out the seats and the rivers for the Arya; that is the dwelling of the mind. This praise has been composed for your manly deeds, for you have opened the path for the wheel to roll forward. Your expanse, O mighty one, is vast, traversed for the sake of life; like barley to cattle, you have bestowed abundance. Holding fast to this, your wise fathers, the helpers, may we too become a source of increase for the wielder of the Maruts. For strength, for a secure abode, together with the singers, O hero, we strive; may we conquer, Indra, with you as our ally. May the Rudras, the Maruts, and the mountains, united, aid us in the slaying of Vṛtra and in the call to battle. Whoever praises and lauds you, may he be protected, and may the gods, with Indra as their chief, guard us. May these hymns gladden you, O doer of great deeds; cast down those who hate prayer. With your foot, drive away the avaricious Paṇis; you are great, none can withstand you. Indra, you are the lord of the pressed libations and of the unpressed as well; you are the king of the people. Come, approach, master of the house, with the resounding cry of the people; you fill both heaven and earth. Even that mountain, the hill with a hundred and a thousand peaks, you have split apart for the sake of the singers. We call upon you by day at the pressing, and by night as well; fulfill our desires for us. Where is that youthful bull, with mighty neck, unbending? Which priest worships him? To whose pressing does the bull, delighted, descend? Who indeed has fashioned Indra? Who has achieved your gifts, O slayer of Vṛtra, who your great heroic deeds? Who is most devoted in hymn? This Soma is pressed for you among men, among the Pūrus; come, hasten here, and drink of it. This dear Soma for you is on the Śaryaṇāvat, most intoxicating on the Arjīkīya. This lovely, exhilarating, strong drink is today for your great bounty; come, Indra, hasten, and drink. Whenever, Indra, you are invoked by men from east, west, or north, come here swiftly with your team. Whether you rejoice at the outpouring of heaven, O bringer of light, or in the sea of the Soma drink, I call you with great, wide-ranging hymns, as one calls a cow for giving; Indra, for the drinking of Soma. Let your great steeds, O god Indra, bear your greatness, carrying it on your chariot. Indra, I praise and extol you, great and mighty, lordly in power; come, drink our pressed Soma. We, with pressed Soma and eager devotion, call upon you; may this our seat be pleasing to you. For you are indeed always common to all, Indra; you are shared—so we call upon you. This sweet Soma, pressed by the stones, the men have milked for you; accepting it, Indra, drink. O wise and discerning one, come here, renowned among all men; grant us great fame. He is the giver of spotted cattle, the king of those with golden ornaments; may the generous god not harm us. Over a thousand spotted cattle, I have bestowed bright, great, and broad shining gold. The offspring of the mighty fort, with a thousand gifts, has made me renowned among the gods. With your praises, seeking wealth, I call Indra for help, singing loudly at the soma-pressing ritual, summoning the generous one like a provider. No greedy or stubborn one can restrain him, the swift and exhilarating one in the intoxication; he, the giver, is worthy of praise for the eager, for the one who presses soma. Thus, with reverence, the seers and singers call upon mighty Indra, celebrating his valor and generosity, seeking his presence and his blessings, that with him as ally, all obstacles may be overcome and prosperity may abound.