A mighty destruction is called forth, one of great power, O generous one, and may it indeed come to pass. Let those who attempt to cross over our distress be themselves overcome. In this time, Aditi, sovereign of the radiant realm, steadfast in her vow, along with the great kings who rule, are invoked for our protection. May the Somas bring you delight; grant us your favor, O stone-wielder, and with your strength strike down those who despise the sacred word. With your very foot, O mighty one, drive away the stingy, for truly, none can withstand your force. You, Indra, are lord over both the pressed and unpressed offerings, king of peoples, honored in every rite. Awake, O inspired one, for the true thoughts are ready. Soma, being purified, is poured into the vessels by priests skilled and dexterous, as couples, filled with desire, eagerly pour forth. This purified Soma is placed close to the sun, embracing both heaven and earth; even those dearest to him, with their loving aid, do not withhold wealth from the one who acts rightly. May this Soma, growing and shining in purity, rich in gifts, bring us light—guiding us to where our forefathers, wise in the paths and the journey of the sun, have gone forth, crossing the stone. Let us not speak of anything else, O friends, nor falter; together, let us praise Indra the mighty with the pressed Soma, and let our hymns be unceasing. He is like a young bull, strong and unconquered by men, who draws the cows, dispels hatred, brings unity, benefits all, and is supremely victorious. Our sweetest songs rise up—hymns of praise, like the inexhaustible, wealth-bringing chariots of Satrājit. Just as the Kanvas, the Bhṛgus, and even the sun have sought the kindled flame, so too have the eager ones magnified Indra with their hymns, and the Priyamedhas have sung aloud. Soma, move among our enemies for the gaining of strength, overcoming all obstacles; drive away the haters, as a debtor pays off his debt. For you, O purified one, have indeed generated the sun by your power, as well as the flowing milk, hastening with the cows and with Purandhi. We delight in you, O pressed Soma, in the great sovereignty of battle; O purified one, you rush forth to the prize. Pour forth on every side, O sweet Soma, for Indra, for Mitra, for Pūṣan, for Bhaga. Thus, let that bright, heavenly, nourishing stream flow for the immortal, for the great dwelling. O Indra, may this pressed Soma be drunk by you and by all the gods, for wisdom and skill. Like the rays of the sun, eager to disperse, passions are born together and move as one; the threads of desire are woven, encircling all, and without Indra, the vital energies do not move toward any abode. Thought is drawn forth and poured out like honey; the deep-sounding one stirs within, and in the midst of the thunderbolt, the purifying one flows forth, sweet and exhilarating for those who press, sweeping away all coverings. The bull bellows, the cows return, and the divine ones go to the divine’s outpouring; Soma has crossed over the shining barrier, the inexhaustible, and like an unstained garment, he has enveloped it. Men, with their rays, generate Agni from the two kindling woods, released by the hand—a renowned, far-seeing lord of the house, ever to be invoked. That Agni, O Vasus, you have placed among men, with clear vision, to bring help from wherever needed; he is ever skillful in the home. Shine forth brightly, O Agni, before us with unfailing radiance, youngest one; to you always come the prizes. The spotted cow has stepped forth, seeking her mother and father, longing for her own abode. He moves within the shining realms, from his breath and exhalation; the great bull has revealed the sky. He shines in thirty abodes, with the word set for the swift one; each day he approaches the dwelling with the bright ones. As we approach the sacrifice, let us speak the mantra to Agni, for those far and near who listen. He who was foremost among companions, who has come together among peoples, protected life for the worshipper. May Agni, the knower, protect our household, most peaceful, and guard us from harm. Let all beings declare: Agni, the slayer of Vṛtra, is born, the winner of wealth in battle after battle. O Agni, yoke your good horses, O god, those who swiftly bring the offering. Come to us, O carrier, with your best paths for our enjoyment, to the gods, for the drinking of Soma. O Agni, shine forth, O Bhārata, with unfailing, lightning-like brilliance; blaze forth, undecaying one. For the one who presses the Soma, the mortal does not desire that word; drive away the envious, as the Bhṛgus drove the sacrifice from the faithless dog. The twin was born at night, like a son at the breast of his parents; he moved swiftly, like a suitor to the maidens, and sat in the womb. That hero, accomplished in skill, who upheld the two worlds—Hari, protected in purity—even the Creator did not settle in a womb. You are without a brother, without kin, O Indra, ever since birth; in battle, you seek to surpass even your own father. You do not find the one with much wealth fit for friendship; your splendid horses drink when you call, and you are invoked like a father at the start of the gathering. A thousand, a hundred tawny-haired steeds, yoked to the golden chariot, joined with hymns, O Indra, let them bring you for the drinking of Soma.