From the altar, sweetest songs and hymns of praise arise, ascending like the never-failing, wealth-bringing chariots of Satrājit. Just as the Kanvas and Bhṛgus, and even the sun itself, have sought the kindled flame, so too do the eager ones magnify Indra with their hymns, and the Priyamedhas sing aloud his glory. To Soma, the prayer is made: may you, O radiant one, encircle our enemies, grant us strength, and overcome all obstacles; drive away those who hate us, as a debtor pays off his debt and is freed. For you, O purified Soma, by your power have brought forth the sun and the flowing milk, hastening alongside the cows and Purandhi. In you, O pressed Soma, we find delight, especially in the great sovereignty of battle; purified one, you surge forward to claim the prize. Pour yourself forth all around, O sweet Soma, for Indra, for Mitra, for Pūṣan, and for Bhaga. Let that brilliant, nourishing stream flow for the immortal, for the great dwelling in heaven. O Indra, may this pressed Soma be drunk by you and all the gods, for wisdom and for skill. Just as the sun’s rays disperse, so are the passions born together and move as one; the threads of desire are woven and encircle all, yet without Indra, the vital energies do not move toward any abode. Thought is drawn forth, poured out like honey; the deep-sounding one stirs within, and in the midst of the thunderbolt, the purifying Soma flows, sweet and exhilarating for the pressers, sweeping away all coverings. The bull bellows, the cows return, the divine ones gather at the divine’s outpouring; Soma has crossed the shining barrier, inexhaustible, wrapping it as a garment unstained. Men, with their rays, kindle Agni from the two friction woods, releasing him by hand—the renowned, far-seeing lord of the house, ever to be invoked. That Agni, O Vasus, you have placed among men, clear-sighted, always skillful in the home, ever ready to help from near or far. Shine forth brightly, O Agni, before us, youngest one, with unfailing radiance; to you always come the prizes. The spotted cow steps forth, seeking her mother and father, returning to her own abode. Within the shining realms he moves, from his breath and exhalation; the great bull has revealed the sky. In thirty abodes he shines, and the word is set for the swift one; each day he approaches the dwelling with the bright ones. Approaching the sacrifice, let us utter the mantra to Agni, for those near and those who listen from afar. He who was foremost among companions, who has come together among peoples, has protected life for the worshipper. May Agni, the knower, most peaceful, protect our household and guard us from harm. Let all beings proclaim: Agni, slayer of Vṛtra, is born—he wins wealth in battle after battle. O Agni, yoke your swift, noble horses, those who bring the offering quickly. Come to us, O carrier, along your best paths, bringing us 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 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 his parents’ breast; he moved swiftly, like a suitor to the maidens, and sat in the womb. That hero, accomplished and pure, upheld the two worlds—Hari, protected in purity, whom the Creator did not settle in a womb. O Indra, you are without brother or kin since birth; in battle, you strive even to surpass your own father. You do not find the wealthy fit for friendship; your splendid horses drink at your call, and you are invoked like a father at the beginning of the assembly. A thousand, a hundred tawny-maned steeds, yoked to your golden chariot, come with hymns, O Indra, to bring you for the drinking of Soma. Let your tawny horses with peacock-like tails and dappled backs draw you on the golden chariot for the drinking of the sweet pressed juice. Drink of this Soma, O lover of song, first among drinkers, of the well-prepared, flowing draught; this outpouring is offered for your delight. Let the pourers pour out the hymn like a swift horse, powerful, traversing the spaces, surging forth and breaking through the woods. The thousand-streamed bull, the milk-giver, beloved for the birth of the gods, who grew by truth, born of truth—the king, the god, the great truth. Agni has struck down obstacles; the bringer of wealth, shining, kindled, and bright, is invoked with skill. In the womb of mother and father, the father sits, flashing, in the imperishable, settled at the source of truth. O Jātavedas, bring forth prayers rich in offspring, O wise Agni, as you shine in the sky. His swift, golden, purified juice, pressed with the gods, circles the filter, resounding like cattle in the house—the Hotṛ priest. Wearing auspicious garments together, the great sage is praised with words; let him be proclaimed, purified in the vessel, wise and ever watchful in the service of the gods. Beloved, he is cleansed on the mountain slope, the most glorious among the glorious is established among us; purified, resound over the earth—may you always protect us with blessings.