When the sacred fire is kindled, the lord of all—radiant and resplendent—shines forth. The purifier, Soma, glows with brilliance, his presence like a roaring bull bringing delight to all. This purifier, protector of the body, sharpens his horns and surges onward, his radiance illuminating the midspace between earth and heaven. Soma, the desirable and purifying stream, pours forth as wealth, shining with light and filled with the essence of honey. His streams flow, bestowing sweetness and abundance. With power, O golden one, you spread the sacred grass eastward, purifying as you advance among the gods, yourself a god among them, bright and glorious. The wide and lofty doors, divine and golden, swing open to your approach. Praised by the purifier, these portals are set apart, welcoming the sacred presence. With skill in creation, vast and great, the purifier bellows forth, his appearance likened to the mingling of Night and Dawn. I call upon both divine Hotṛs, seers among the gods, and upon Indra, the mighty bull, the purifying one. May Bhārati, Sarasvatī, and Ilā—three great and adorned goddesses—come to our sacrifice, blessing this sacred rite. I invoke Tvaṣṭṛ, the ancient protector of cattle and leader at the front, and Indu, Indra, the golden bull, the purifier, lord of all creatures. O purifier, unite with the lord of trees, with honey and flowing streams, with the thousand-branched, green, shining golden one. All the gods—Vāyu, Bṛhaspati, Sūrya, Agni, Indra—have come together in harmony to the purifier, called by the sacred cry of “svāhā.” With delightful streams, O Soma, purify yourself for the gods, strong and unblemished among the coverings, eager for our offering. Flow toward that intoxicating delight, O drops, as Indra does—toward the swift steeds and horses. Flow, pressed out, toward that ancient exhilaration through the filter, toward strength and fame. Like waters rushing down a slope, the drops, O Indu, have flowed forth, purified and reaching Indra. Ten maidens cleanse him, swift as a racer, playing in the wood, surpassing all. Release that bull, the sap with cows, for exhilaration and for the favor of the gods; the pressed one is offered. The god, pressed, is purified for Indra when his milk makes him swell with strength. The soul of the sacrifice, delightful and pressed, is purified, pouring out ancient wisdom. Thus purified, O Indu, bring the most exhilarating delight to our feast; even in secret, you have placed the songs. The drops have flowed forth on the path of truth, resplendent, knowing their yoking. The foremost stream of sweetness, great and abundant, spreads forth, worthy of praise among offerings. The bull, foremost in speech and yoked, has made the sacred sound for the worshipper; the true rite is established in the dwellings. When the sage, adorned with heroic powers, moves with songs, he seeks to win the world of light. Pavamana, overcoming the hosts, sits like a king among the people when the wise purify him. The beloved tawny one, clothed in waters, sits in the woods, and the roaring one is praised by the hymn. He goes with exhilaration, together with Vāyu, Indra, and the Ashvins, striving with his own laws. To Mitra and Varuṇa, to Bhaga, the waves of sweetness flow, knowing his powers. For us, O Heaven and Earth, grant wealth, the sweetness for gaining strength, fame, and gathered riches. These Somas, increasing Indra’s desire, have flowed forth, strengthening his power. Purifying themselves, pressing out the juice, they go to Vāyu and the Ashvins; may they grant us heroic strength. O Soma, purified for Indra’s bounty, impel yourself into the heart, settling in the womb of truth. Ten fingers cleanse you, seven thoughts urge you on; the inspired ones have followed your tracks. For the gods, for exhilaration, we send you forth, O flowing one; we clothe you with the kine. Purifying in the vessels, the ruddy, tawny one has put on garments; he has encompassed the kine. Flow for us, O generous one; drive away all haters. O Indu, come to us as a friend. Flow down rain from the sky, strength upon the earth; grant us, O Soma, might in battles. We would partake of you, O Soma, drunk by Indra, seer of light, as food for our offspring. The inspired sage, beloved of heaven and set in the place of offspring, proceeds well-praised, possessing the wisdom of seers. He, chosen and true, advances for the dwelling and the people, without deceit, with the swiftest force.