As a wise one bears the long goad—a symbol of guidance and mastery—so too do you, O generous one, walk in the footsteps of those who came before, as Yama once did. The divine and blessed mother has brought you forth into the world, endowing you with purpose. In her grace, we seek your help: cast away from us the malice harbored by mortals, humble those who rise against us, and let our adversaries fall beneath our stride. For truly, it is the divine mother who has given you to us. Upon the mountain, the resounding Soma is pressed and flows through the filter, its exhilarating essence pervading all things. You, Soma, are the inspired sage, sweet-born from the pressing, spreading your presence through every exhilaration. All the gods have together partaken of your draught, for in your joy you are all-pervading. Pressed for the sake of wealth and abundance, Soma becomes the leader of riches, the lord of good dwellings, the one to whom offerings are made. Indra drinks of this Soma, as do the Maruts and Bhaga, the bestower of boons. Through Soma, we act in harmony with Mitra and Varuṇa, drawing great help from Indra. Let us sing forth for you, our friend, the purified one, delighting you with offerings as lovingly as one praises a child. Like a calf seeking its mothers, the Soma drop is impelled and pressed forth, adorned by our thoughts and made ready for the gods. This pressed Soma is prepared for skill, strength, and delight, and its sweetness is offered to the divine. The Soma juices, the radiant drops, are purified for us, bestowers of the path—friendly, well-pressed, flawless, and self-sustaining, knowers of the light. These wise Somas, bearing the head, shine splendidly like heroes, steadfast and victorious, standing firm in ghee. Well-pressed by the stones, the Soma streams flow upon the cow’s shining hide, bringing us nourishment from all directions and leading us to wealth. By this purification, O Soma, flow into our riches; enter the lake, O drop, and run forth in the stream, unhindered by the wind, established by the wise and thoughtful. Again, by this purification, O Soma, flow to the place of renown and fame; for the contest, shake out for us sixty thousand treasures, like a ripened tree dropping its fruit. In the pressing, Soma’s bull-like name is great, whether in flesh, filter, or vessel. The hidden one lulls to sleep, moistens, drives away the unfriendly, and removes all senselessness. Agni, you are our closest ally and protector; may you be auspicious and grant us shelter. You are the treasure, famed for wealth—come to us, radiant one, and bestow abundant riches. To you, brilliant and shining, we seek favor for ourselves and our friends. May Indra and all the gods now be present with us in these worlds. May Indra and the Ādityas establish our sacrifice, our bodies, and our offspring. Let Indra, together with the Ādityas and Maruts, grant us remedies. Let us sing to Indra, the slayer of Vṛtra, the inspired one, delighting him with our hymn. The Maruts, resplendent with light, join in song, praising the youthful and famed Indra. May we, dwelling in sweetness, approach you, Indra, and gain both wealth and insight. Like Ushanas, who proclaims wisdom, the god reveals the origins of the gods. The great-vowed, pure-banded, shining one—the boar—emerges, roaring with each step. The swans, measuring in threefold ways, go forth powerfully, accompanied by the troop of bulls, while friends speak of the purifying, unconquerable, roaring one. He joins the path of the wide-gloried; the cows cannot measure the playful one. The sharp-horned, golden one circles round, visible by day and purified by night. The resounding ones, swift as chariots, advance as helpers; the Somas reach out for wealth. Urged on like chariots, they are established in the hands, bearers as skilled as artisans. The Somas, like kings adorned with cows, are praised, and the sacrifice is arranged by seven. The resounding drops, flowing for delight, move with strength and song, streaming honey in their flow. The drinkers of light quicken the wealth of dawn, and the strong ones spread abundance far and wide. The ancient doors of thought, active and swift, open to the bull’s energy. The seven-born priests, united, have sought the single path, longing for the one true track. As the navel is set in the navel, so have I placed it for the sun’s sight, drawing forth the offspring of the sage. To the dear seat of heaven, hidden by priests, the sun gazes with his eye. The drops have flowed forth on the path of truth, splendid in form, their arrangements yoked to his will. The foremost stream of honey, vast and great, pervades the waters, and the offering stands out among all offerings, worthy of praise. The bull, foremost in speech, bellows in the forest, yoked to his task; and in the dwellings, the true sacrifice abides.