The gods are ever watchful, desiring the one who presses the Soma with diligence, for they do not long for those who are slothful or asleep. Only those who remain vigilant avoid the pitfalls of negligence. Around the freshly pressed Soma, the singers gather, their songs rising in praise for Indra, the exhilarator. With hymns, they honor him, for in Indra reside all glories, and the seven assemblies rejoice in him. It is upon this pressed Soma that the devotees call Indra, inviting his presence. The gods, mindful at the three libations, have prepared the sacrifice, and the singers pray that their songs may be accepted. "Here is your Soma, O Indra," they declare, "purified and placed upon the sacred grass. Come swiftly and partake of it." This Soma has been pressed and prepared for Indra’s delight and for the contest; it is for his enjoyment, and so they invoke him, the companion of Śācī, the mighty Ākhaṇḍala. They speak of the bull with horns, offspring of the waters, bearing the vessel for libation, upon whom Indra has set his mind. "Come to us, O Indra," they call, "and grasp the splendid, abundant prize with your mighty right hand." For the devotees know Indra to be powerful in deeds, mighty in help, abundant in gifts, and vast in his aids. Neither gods nor mortals can restrain him when he gives, for like a fearsome bull, none can hold him back. For Indra, the bull, at the pressed Soma, the libation is released for his drinking; the prayer is for him to be satisfied and to partake fully of the exhilaration. The singers beseech that the foolish, powerless, or mockers do not overpower Indra, nor any enemy of prayer subdue him. "Here," they say, "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," they pray, "let no harm come to you, O Indra." The pressed Soma, washed by men, purified by stones and filters, is likened to a horse set loose among the rivers. Barley, sweetened with milk as Indra desires, is prepared for him in the assembly. This pressed Soma, full of strength, is offered to the Lord of gifts, the song-loving one. Whatever is Indra’s proper portion in the pressed Soma, the singers direct his being there, wishing that Soma may exhilarate him. They pray that the head of the sacrifice may not reach Indra’s belly, but that his arms, O hero, may attain the gift through the power of the chant. Now, the friends and bearers of praise sit down around Indra, singing forth together. With the Soma pressed, the devotees seek Indra, the most bountiful of the bountiful, the lord of treasures. May he become their ally for wealth, may he come with the Purandhi gifts, may he arrive with his banners. In every contest and every battle for prize, Indra is called upon as friend and helper. The invocation reaches to the ancient home, to the mighty man of abundant gifts, whom Indra’s father called before him. May he come, if he hears, with a thousandfold aid, with his banners, to this invocation. Indra, in the pressed Somas, is asked to purify his strength and hymn-worthy power, to know the great skill of the ancient wise one. That ancient one, in the first heaven, in the seat of the gods, is renowned, most glorious, victorious in contests. The singers call upon that Indra, mighty in strength, for the winning of wealth, seeking his grace for increase. With reverence, Agni is also called—offspring of strength, beloved, most swift, righteous, immortal, and messenger of all. Agni 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. Now dawn appears, the daughter of heaven, shining forth; with her gaze she chooses the great waters, dispels the darkness, and creates light, the good daughter. The sun, rising with the dawns, moves together with the star, shining forth; at their coming, at the sun’s light, the devotees hope to go forth with shared portion. These dawns in heaven call upon the Ashvins; the singers too call them for help, bestowers of strength, who go from people to people. "You, O men, give wondrous food; urge on the one who speaks well; set your chariot near with one mind, and drink the honeyed Soma." The ancient, shining milk has the cows drawn forth for him—the rich milk of a thousand streams. Like the sun, he looks forth, running through the rivers, up the seven channels to the sky. This Soma, purified, stands above all the worlds, O people, like a god, not unlike the sun. This radiant one, pressed for the gods, with ancient birth, flows through the filter, a tawny one. This god, with ancient thought, surpasses the other gods; the sage has grown strong with the inspired one. Milking the ancient milk, Soma is poured around the filter; with its cry, it has stirred the gods to birth. Thus, in this sacred assembly, the gods are invoked, the Soma is pressed and purified, the songs resound, and the dawn brings light, as all join in reverent celebration, seeking the favor and gifts of Indra, Agni, and the Ashvins.