O Soma, pressed and prepared for mighty Indra, flow forth with your healing essence and bring protection, driving away affliction from us. May your pure strength not delight the deceptive, but let your generous drops be present here among us, blessing those who are true. Soma, the tawny bull, is pressed for Indra’s two bay steeds. Like a resounding king, he bellows among the cows, and, purified, he seeks the ageless path. Like a soaring eagle, he settles into the butter-rich womb, ready for sacrifice. The sweet drops of Soma flow forth to the gods, just as cows hurry to their calf, or milch cows to the altar. Those who dwell on the sacred grass, eloquent and full of speech, with their streaming offerings, reach the one who is now revealed. The priests adorn and brighten Soma, uniting and stirring the will; they join with the generous. At the river’s outflow, the golden-hoofed seize the swift one leaping—the very beast that moves through the waters. Your filter, O Lord of Prayer, is spread wide. Mighty are you, Soma, encompassing all beings everywhere. Like one untouched by heat, no harm comes to you; and those who have strained and borne you reach together that state of purity. To Indra, let these pressed drops be carried by strong steeds—the drops born for hearing, knowing the light. Awaken, O Soma! Flow for Indra; bring radiant strength, bring the light that illumines all. O friends, sit down for the purified Soma, sing forth in praise; surround this divine child with sacrifices, adorning him with your offerings. Sing to him, purified for your joy, O friends; delight this child with your offerings and hymns of praise. This child, breathing for the great ones, impels the light of truth; he gathers all beloved things, holding them together in duality. Purify yourself, O Soma, with your streams and strength, for the divine assembly. Come, honeyed Soma, to our vessel, to our seat. Purified, Soma rushes in his wave, breaking through all barriers; at the forefront of speech, the roaring one bellows. For the skillful, purified Soma, words are spoken; he delights in the offerings, accepting them thoughtfully, as if they were his wage. O pressed Soma, bring us wealth—cattle, horses, skill, and riches. Place your pure color among our cows. For us, the singers have invoked you, O giver of wealth; with cows, we will clothe you in color. The golden one, beloved of the bay steeds, is purified; he delights in all that is lovely. Come to the singers, Soma, and bring heroic fame. The purified Soma flows around the vessel, pouring forth honeyed sweetness. The songs of the seers resound around him, seven in number. Flow forth, Soma, most sweet and wise, for Indra; let the mightiest and most glorious exhilaration be yours. Shine forth, O lord of nourishment, with great glory and fame, O god who delights the gods. Guide the middle vessel, O youthful one, towards us. O pressers, pour out your praise like a swift horse—abundant, far-reaching, surging through the vast expanse like a river released from the forest. This is the exhilarating, thousand-streamed bull, milked from heaven, bearing all treasures. He is pressed who brings wealth, riches, and offerings—Soma, who brings good dwellings. Indeed, O Pavamana, you proclaim the divine births, most radiant, announcing immortality. Pressed by the stream, pure through the filters, Soma flows most exhilarating, playing like a wave of waters. With strength, he has cut through the cows, even among the stones, and entered the enclosure for cattle and horses. Like a warrior in armor, he breaks through with boldness. Thus the pure Soma, gentle and forest-born, O Indra, brings us the greatest and most powerful fame, as you, strong-armed one, wish to uphold both worlds, O fair-bearded god. Indra is king of all peoples, ruling over them. Whatever of his many forms he gives to the worshipper, he grants riches—even to the one who praises from nearby. By his might, yoked with the spaces among men, the great delight of Indra is found. O Varuna, raise up from us the highest snare; release the lowest and the middle. Then, O Aditya, by your law, may we, sinless, belong to Aditi. With you, O purified Soma, may we win every battle, ever victorious. May Mitra, Varuna, Aditi, the river, earth, and sky never harm us. Make this one, O vigorous gods, the foremost among us. For Indra, for sacrifice, for Varuna, for the Maruts—flow forth, Soma, granting us wide space. With this, desiring all the glories of men, O noble one, may we conquer. I am the first-born of the cosmic order, earlier than the gods, the very name of immortality. Whoever gives me, he attains as I do—I am food, and I eat the eater of food. You, Soma, sustained this among the black cows, the red ones, and the speckled ones, with shining milk. The bull, difficult to restrain, foremost among the speckled ones, bellows and moves among the worlds, desiring the prize. The magicians measured him by their magic; the fathers, with human sight, took up his embryo. Indra, with his two harnessed ones, mingles, his speech yoked, Indra the wielder of the golden thunderbolt. Indra, protect us in contests and in those with a thousand prizes, O mighty one, with your powerful aids. The name of him who spreads and is spread, of the Anuṣṭubh offering, the carrier of gifts—Vasiṣṭha took up from the brilliance of the supporter, from Savitar and Viṣṇu, the Rathantara. Come with your teams, O Vāyu; I approach you, O bright one. You will come to the house of the one who presses the Soma.