As the sacred Soma is pressed and purified, it begins its journey, flowing forth as a sweet and nourishing drink, the very fountain of wealth and fortune. It moves with the might of a hero and the generosity of Bhaga, gladdening Indra and bringing riches from the vast ocean. This Soma, radiant and lively, races like a swift horse, never straying from its path, surging down to the lowlands with the speed of a steed. Purified, it settles into its proper place, accompanied by cows and companions, a source of abundance and joy. For you, Indra, this Soma is prepared—wise, strong, and eager, its vision shining, a charioteer of true might, sent forth like a cherished desire by those who worship the gods. Purified with ancient vigor, Soma covers the forms of the daughter and, clothed in triple shelter, moves among the waters like a priest, resounding in the gatherings of the faithful. Now, divine Soma, charioteer, you flow around us, purified in the vessels, sweetest in the waters, honeyed, and true to the cosmic law, resembling the god Savitar in your pure thought. As you are praised and flow forth, you approach Vāyu, Mitra, and Varuṇa, and the wise, chariot-loving ones. You draw near to mighty Indra, who wields the thunderbolt in his arm. You come to the well-clad garments, to the cows that yield abundantly, and to the shining, golden ones, granting us lordship. You approach the horses that bear the chariot, bringing with you the promise of strength and victory. For us, you bring divine riches, and you draw near to all things of earth. By your grace, may we attain wealth, as did Jamadagni in ancient times. Soma, flow along this path to bring us these riches. Do not run dry in the lake, O drop; even the white one, driven by the wind, would give a man to the generous. Flow, Soma, along this path to the place of fame, and, like a tree heavy with ripe fruit shaken in battle, may you shower down sixty thousand treasures, O purifier. Your name is great, even in times of drought. O drop, do not be cut off in the lake or the cleft. You have the power to put hidden things to rest, to make the hostile friendly, and to drive away the senseless. Purified, you pass through the three extended filters as one. You are Bhaga, the giver of gifts, Maghavan for the generous, O Soma. This wise Soma, knower of all, is purified—the king of the world. The drops, stirring in the assemblies, come together, seeking the unfailing shelter. The mighty, unerring ones press the drop; they roar at each step like poets, not like vultures. The wise urge it on with ten fingers, adorning its form with the essence of the waters. With you, purified Soma, may we always discern what is accomplished in the offering. May Mitra, Varuṇa, Aditi, Sindhu, Earth, and Heaven never harm us. O Indu, attain for us the most prize-bringing wealth, abundant in countless forms, splendid and unconquerable. Pressed and flowing, you are unaging, like armor stretched on a chariot. O Indu, settled in the vessel and descending, your streams protect us. Overflowing with exhilaration, you shine forth in the ritual, ever seeking the cows. For you, O god, grant wealth always to the mortal who serves; O Indu, you bestow treasures a thousandfold, in a hundred forms. O slayer of Vṛtra, we long to be nearest to your manifold, much-desired wealth, to be close to your abundant favor. Twice five sisters, self-bright, joined by the stone, pour out your beloved, desirable wave, swelling with their flood for Indra. They purify you, the tawny, golden one, with their stream, and you, filled with exhilaration, go forth with all the gods. By your help, O bringer of skill, protect us, you who have established great fame among the seers, O golden, tawny one. In your sacrifices, O Indu, Earth and Heaven were born, god and goddess, mountain-dwelling, ever advancing, mighty in sound. O Soma, you are poured out for Indra to drink, for the slayer of Vṛtra, and for the generous man who offers, for the god who sits in his seat. Those ancient Somas, in the dawns, flowed in the purifier, surging forth, pressed out in the morning, abundant and unknowing. May we, O friends and seers, enjoy that widely-shining one; may we attain the fragrance of strength and the wealth of vigor. For the tawny, bold Soma, they stretch out strength, weaving the bright, clear stream for the mighty lord at the forefront. Then, adorned through the night, the prize emerges, urged on by the thoughts of Vivasvat. We cleanse that exhilaration, most pleasing to Indra, which the cows have held in their udders, both in the past and now. That one, purified by ancient song, is praised; inspired thoughts, bearing the names of the gods, rejoice in him. Streaming in the unaging flow, the mighty one is purified. As a mindful messenger, the wise direct him, always aware of what lies ahead. Purified, Soma, most intoxicating, settles in the cups; like a bull depositing seed, the lord inspires speech and wisdom. He is cleansed by skillful acts, the god pressed for the gods; when poured out, he penetrates the great waters. Pressed, O Indu, you are led through the filter by men, most exhilarating for Indra, settling in the cups. The honest ones call upon you for Indra’s delight; like mothers licking a newborn calf, they cherish you, the newly born. Purifying, O Indu, bring forth Soma, the wealth that is twice strong; you nurture all riches in the house of the worshipper. You release wisdom yoked with mind, like rain from thunder; you, Soma, foster both earthly and heavenly treasures. As the stream of the pressed one flows, so your current rushes forth; swiftly, like a racing horse, you move through the filter. For resolve, for skill, for us, O wise Soma, purify with your stream—pressed for Indra to drink, and for Mitra and Varuṇa as well.