Among gods and men, none is born nor shall be born who rivals Indra—neither celestial nor earthly. Generous Indra, we call upon you, longing for horses and cows to sustain us. We wonder at the wondrous protection by which our ever-growing friend has become our messenger—by what powerful help, chosen by you, does he aid us? Among your intoxicating powers, which is the truest, the greatest at the Soma feast? Even the firmest foes you shatter, O giver of wealth. Be the protector of friends and singers for us, O Indra; may your aid come to us a hundredfold. With hymns, we praise mighty Indra, conqueror of death, generous and delighted by 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, abundant and full of food—a thousandfold prize, swiftly bringing cattle. With our praises, we call Indra, the giver of wealth, for help in battle; singing loudly at the Soma-pressing, I invoke the generous one, like a worker calls for wages. No greedy or weak enemy can withstand the swift, exhilarating Indra, who, with favor, gives worthy gifts to the singer who presses Soma. Flow, Soma, with 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. Indra, remover of darkness, greatest and slayer of Vṛtra, grant your favor to the generous ones. Flow, Soma, most sweet and wise, with the mightiest exhilaration for Indra—let your greatest, most heavenly exhilaration pour forth. By drinking you, Soma, the bull becomes more vigorous; by drinking you, men gain light. With clear insight, Indra 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 him, knower of light. This pressed Soma flows for Indra’s support; Soma, 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 and for joy, drive away, friends, the long-tongued dog. Soma, with pure, shining stream, pours forth when pressed, fit for deeds like a horse. To that Soma, free from anger, let men come with all-encompassing thought; let the streams be ready for sacrifice. The beloved, swift-flowing, renowned one is purified, bearing mighty names; upon whom, from the great sun, the far-seeing one ascends the all-reaching chariot. The tongue of truth flows, sweet and dear, the speaker, unfailing lord of thought; the son places the third name of his parents in the shining realm of heaven. The shining ones have poured into the jars, roaring, guided by men, into the golden vessel; the givers of truth have approached, and you, Dawn, shine forth on the triple height. With sacrifice upon sacrifice, with praise upon praise, we declare you, O Agni, immortal Jātavedas, beloved friend, for skill and offering. May we serve the Son of Strength with oblation; may he be our protector in contests, our increaser, and guardian of our bodies. Come here, Agni; I will speak these various words to you—may you grow with these libations. Wherever, in whatever place, you set your mind and superior insight, there you establish your seat. Not one of your gifts has been wasted, O Lord of these people; therefore, we seek your favors. We, bearing no burden, call upon you, O mighty, unprecedented one, O wielder of the bolt, wondrous, for help. We approach you for aid in our deeds; may you, O strong one, come to us who have acted boldly. We have chosen you, Indra, as our helper and steadfast friend. Therefore, O Indra, singer of praises, we seek you with desire; we call you forth—come with the waters, with the streams. We, O hero, offer you praises, O stone-splitter, ever-growing, day by day. The two bays, yoked to the wide-wheeled chariot, gather at the songs of the inspired; harnessed by words, they bear Indra, knower of light. Sing forth to Indra, the drinker of Soma, for your draughts; he, all-conquering, of a hundred powers, is the greatest among men. Call him Indra, much-invoked, much-praised, ever-renowned in song. Indra is for us the giver of great gifts, the bestower of prizes, the leader, mighty by his recognition. Sing your exhilaration to Indra, the tamer of horses, friends, for the drinker of Soma. Let us praise the generous one with hymn and strength, as men do, for the true benefactor. You, Indra, are the giver of prizes, of cattle, O hundred-powered; you are the giver of gold, O wealthy one. We, your friends, come to you, Indra, for this very purpose; the Kaṇvas rejoice in you with hymns. Never, O wielder of the bolt, have we failed in any contest or need; by your praises alone, you have recognized us.