Let our voices rise in song, encircling the freshly pressed Soma, as we honor Indra, the one who delights in our praises. The poets gather, their hymns resounding, exalting him in whose presence all glories dwell—the seven assemblies themselves rest within him. Upon the sacred Soma, we call Indra to the offering. The gods themselves sought the mindful one among the Trikadrukas, preparing the sacrifice with care and devotion. Let our songs magnify him, for to Indra the Soma drops flow as rivers pour into the vast sea—no one surpasses Indra’s might. Through his greatness, he has revealed the nourishing food of Soma for the wakeful, storing it within his own being. May the Soma be pleasing to your belly, Indra, slayer of Vṛtra; may the drops find their place in your abodes. The Soma is fitting for the horse, as Śrutakakṣa sings, fitting for the cow, and fitting for Indra’s own dwelling. Indeed, Indra, you are adorned by our pressings, by the Somas—these gifts are truly yours, O mighty one. Even from afar, O stone-armed Indra, our songs reach you; may we come before you in a manner worthy of your presence. For you are valiant, a steadfast hero, your mind ever generous. Thus, among all givers, the gift is held—so, O Indra, remain with me. Do not grow weary, O lord of strength, like a priest burdened by ritual; delight in the pressed, wealth-bringing Soma. Let not the commands of day or night overcome us, Indra; with you as our ally, may we achieve victory. With you at our side, O Indra, may we declare our battles—you are ours, and we are yours. Your followers, whether moving or staying, ever follow you, Indra; the poets are truly your friends. He has arisen—the bountiful, famed bull, lord of men—as the Sun sets, you, O Indra, come forth. With the strength of your arms, you shattered ninety-nine fortresses, and slew the serpent, O slayer of Vṛtra. May that Indra, gracious friend, bring us horses, cattle, and barley, pouring forth abundance like a wide river. Whatever you have accomplished today or in ages past, O Indra, all rests under your command. And if, mighty lord, you deem yourself invincible and unconquered, truly, that is your very nature, O truthful one. Whether the Somas are pressed near or far, Indra, you go to all of them. We urge Indra on, that he might strike down the great Vṛtra—let him be the powerful, mighty bull. Indra is made for subduing, most vigorous, set in the joy of Soma—glorious and renowned, he is the one of Soma. His thunderbolt, gathered by the words of praise, is strong and unfailing, rising high, unbroken. Even in difficulty, O Indra, lover of song, make an easy path for us—you, the generous one, have the power. None can hinder your command, not god nor powerless man; your sovereignty stands undiminished. Heaven and earth themselves have honored your irresistible might, O fair-jawed one, as you are worshipped. You have supported both the black and red cows, among the bright ones on the Paruṣṇī river. When the serpent’s brightness was scattered, all the gods advanced; we have come to know the might of that beast. May the favor of the slayer of Vṛtra be with me; grant me strength—unconquered, never defeated. We have heard of your most renowned deeds, O slayer of Vṛtra; send forth your troop for the great reward. With insight and the wealth of cattle, O much-praised one, you have become Soma among Somas. Let the slayer of Vṛtra, attentive in mind, be present for us; let Śakra hear our prayer for abundant life. With what help, O vigorous one, do you delight us? With what do you bring gifts to your singers? With whose bull, accompanied by his retinue, does the mighty one roar at the pressing, the slayer of Vṛtra, eager for the drinking of Soma? May you, delighting in Soma, bring us wealth in thousands; be the leader for your worshipper. These pressed libations, shining and accompanied by wives, go forth for the feast; they flow to the waters, pressing downward. The desired offerings have poured forth, mighty at the sacrifice, toward Indra, toward the Avabhṛtha, with strength. Here are the two yoked together for the shared feast—the tawny steeds with golden manes, bearing the offering swiftly. For you these Somas are pressed, the strewn grass is bright, O radiant one; bring Indra here for the singers. Thus, in reverence and joy, the songs and offerings flow, all seeking the presence and favor of mighty Indra.