O mighty Indra, heroic stone-splitter whose greatness ever increases day by day, we offer you our heartfelt praises. Your two bays, yoked to your wide-wheeled chariot, gather at the songs of the inspired; harnessed by our words, they bear you, Indra, knower of light, to us. Let us sing to Indra, the drinker of Soma, for whom we prepare our draughts. He is all-conquering, possessing a hundred powers, and stands as the greatest among men. We call upon you, Indra, much-invoked and much-praised, ever renowned in our songs. For us, Indra is the giver of great gifts, the bestower of prizes, our leader, mighty by his recognition. Friends, let us sing our exhilaration to Indra, the tamer of horses, the drinker of Soma. Let us praise the generous one with hymn and with strength, as grateful men do, for he is the true benefactor. Indra, you are the giver of prizes and cattle, O hundred-powered; you are the giver of gold, O wealthy one. We, your friends, come to you for this very purpose; the Kaṇvas rejoice in you with hymns. O wielder of the bolt, never have we failed in any contest or need; by your praises alone, you have recognized us. The gods desire the one who presses the Soma; they do not long for one who sleeps, and those ever-vigilant do not fall into negligence. Let our songs resound around the pressed Soma for Indra, the exhilarator; let the singers praise with hymns. In whom all glories and the seven assemblies rejoice—upon that pressed Soma, we call Indra. The gods, conscious at the three libations, have prepared the sacrifice; let our songs be accepted. Here is your Soma, O Indra, purified and placed upon the sacred grass; come, hasten, and drink of it. This pressed Soma, prepared for your delight and contest, is for your enjoyment, O Śācī’s companion, O Ākhaṇḍala, you are invoked. That bull with horns, offspring of the waters, with a vessel for the libation—upon him you have set your mind. Come to us, O Indra, grasp the splendid, abundant prize with your mighty right hand. For we know you to be powerful in deeds, mighty in help, abundant in gifts, and vast in your aids. Neither gods nor mortals restrain you, O hero, when you give; like a fearsome bull, none hold you back. For you, the bull, at the pressed Soma, I release the libation for drinking; be satisfied, partake fully of the exhilaration. Let not the foolish, powerless, or mockers overpower you; do not let any enemy of prayer subdue you. Here, like a cow with her calf, let them gladden you for great bounty; drink as a tawny one drinks from a lake. Drink, O Lord, this pressed Soma, with your belly full; let no harm come to you, O Indra. The pressed Soma, washed by men, purified by stones and filters, is like a horse set loose among the rivers. That barley, sweetened with milk as you desire, O Indra, let them prepare for you in this assembly. This pressed Soma, indeed, with strength, O Lord of gifts, drink of it, O song-loving one. Whatever is your proper portion in the pressed Soma, direct your being there; may that Soma exhilarate you. Let not the head of the sacrifice reach your belly, Indra; let the arms, O hero, attain the gift through the power of the chant. Now let these friends, bearers of praise, sit down around you, Indra, and sing forth together. With the Soma pressed, we seek Indra, the most bountiful of the bountiful, the lord of treasures. May he indeed become our ally for wealth, may he come with the Purandhi gifts, may he come to us with his banners. In every contest and every battle for prize, we call you, Indra, our friend, for help. I call upon the ancient home, the mighty man of abundant gifts, whom your father called before you. May he indeed come, if he hears, with a thousandfold aid, with his banners, to our invocation. Indra, in the pressed Somas, purify your strength and your hymn-worthy power; know the great skill of the ancient wise one. He, the ancient one, in the first heaven, in the seat of the gods, is renowned, most glorious, victorious in contests. I call upon that Indra, mighty in strength, for the winning of wealth; be most gracious to us, friend, for increase. With this reverence, I call Agni, the offspring of strength, beloved, most swift, righteous, immortal, the messenger of all. He is yoked with red steeds, all-providing, swiftly summoned by the offering; the noble sacrifice, well-ordered, brings the wealth of the gods to the people.