The Angiras, with reverence, kindle you, O youngest and radiant Agni, feeding your flames with sacred sticks and ghee. O god of brilliant light, it is you who bestows upon us wide renown, O Agni, and splendid heroism. The sages—Viśvāmitra, son of Gāthin, and Jamadagni—sing in the Gāyatrī meter, invoking Mitra and Varuṇa. “Mitra and Varuṇa,” they pray, “pour out for us, with clarified butter, the abundance of cows; and with honey, O wise ones, the sweetness of the realms.” Agni, famed far and wide, is strengthened by our homage. By your greatness, you rule over all skill, upholding the longest and purest vows. Together with Jamadagni, we praise you and ask that you sit in the womb of truth, drinking the Soma grown by truth itself. Now Irīmbiṭhi, son of Kāṇva, in the Gāyatrī meter, calls to Indra: “Come hither, delighted, O Indra, and drink this Soma; this sacred grass is my seat prepared for you.” May your two tawny steeds, yoked with the power of prayer, bring you here, O Indra, and may you listen to our heartfelt invocations. As Soma is pressed, we, the offerers, call upon you, Indra, drinker of Soma, with the power of prayer. Indra and Agni, come together with our words to the pressed Soma, most excellent in the heavens; protect this offering, inspired by our deepest thoughts. With the singer, the conscious sacrifice advances; with this Soma, Indra and Agni, protect us. I choose Indra and Agni, covered with wisdom and favored by the sacrifice; may they enjoy this Soma here, delighting in our devotion. The Angirases have grown mighty, and Soma, the purifier, has set your exhilarating birth high in heaven and on earth; grant us your strong protection and great renown. Let the stream flow forth for Indra, worthy of sacrifice, for Varuṇa, and for the Maruts, granting wide and open space. With this, desiring to win all the glories of men, we strive to conquer. Soma, the purifying one, flows with strength, clothed in waters; sit, O divine golden fountain, in the treasure-holding womb of truth. Milking the heavenly udder, Soma approaches the ancient, beloved seat of sweetness, flowing to the inviting support, purified by men, wise one, always seeking strength. Run forth, O purifier, sit around the vessel with men; attain the prize. Like a swift horse, you are cleansed and led to the sacred grass with reins. The godly drop, armed with its own weapon, is purified—destroying curses and protecting the people. You are the father of the gods, skillful creator, support of heaven, and foundation of earth. The seer Usanas, the inspired sage and leader of men, with his insight discovered what was hidden among them—the secret name of the cows in the farthest place. We praise you, O hero Indra, like unmilked cows call to their calf; O lord of the moving and the fixed, lord with the vision of light. No one like you, O Indra, is born or will be born, neither among the celestials nor among mortals. O generous Indra, desiring horses and cows, we call upon you. By what wondrous protection has our ever-growing friend become our messenger? By what most powerful help, chosen by you? Among your intoxicating powers, which is the truest, the greatest at the Soma feast? Even the firmest you shatter, O giver of wealth. Be for us the protector of friends and singers; may your aid come to us a hundredfold. With hymns, we praise mighty, death-conquering Indra, the generous one, the delight of Soma, as cows in their stalls call to their calf. We seek the heaven-ox, the bountiful giver, wrapped in strength like a mountain rich in gifts—the abundant prize, full of food, a thousandfold, swiftly bringing cattle. With our praises, we call Indra, the giver of wealth, for help in battle. Loudly singing at the Soma-pressing, I invoke the generous one, like a worker calls for his wages. No greedy or weak enemy can withstand swift, exhilarating Indra, who with favor gives worthy gifts to the singer who presses Soma. Flow, Soma, with your sweetest, most delightful stream, pressed for Indra to drink. The slayer of demons, protector of all people, has entered his seat; he has settled in the vessel, his place of rest. You are the remover of darkness, the greatest, the slayer of Vṛtra; grant your favor to the generous ones. Flow, Soma, most sweet, most wise, with the mightiest exhilaration for Indra; with the greatest, most heavenly exhilaration. By drinking you, the bull becomes more vigorous; by drinking you, men gain the light. With clear insight, he swiftly approaches the prize, like a racer toward the goal. Let these pressed, exhilarating drops go to Indra; let the swift streams, born for hearing, reach Indra, the knower of the light. This pressed Soma flows for Indra’s support; Soma, the victorious, acts as he knows best. In his exhilaration, Indra seizes the prize, the support, and takes up the mighty, manly thunderbolt, victorious in the waters. For you, for the exhilarating pressed Soma, for joy, drive away, friends, the long-tongued dog. He who, with pure, shining stream, pours forth when pressed—Soma—is like a horse fit for great deeds. To that Soma, free from anger, let men come with all-encompassing thought; let the streams be ready for the sacrifice. The beloved, swift-flowing, renowned one is purified, bearing mighty names. Upon him, from the great sun, the far-seeing one ascends the all-reaching chariot.