At the sacred pressing of Soma, I offer the libation to you, O mighty bull, inviting you to drink deeply and be fully satisfied by its exhilarating essence. May you be protected, never overpowered by the foolish, the powerless, or those who mock; let no enemy of prayer subdue your strength. Here, let the offerings gladden you as a cow delights in her calf, and drink with joy, O tawny one, as you would from a cool, clear lake. Drink of this pressed Soma, O Lord, until your belly is full; may no harm come to you, Indra. The Soma, pressed and purified by the hands of men, cleansed by stones and flowing through filters, is like a noble horse set free among the rivers. And let them prepare for you, Indra, in this assembly, barley sweetened with milk, just as you desire. Partake of this pressed Soma, O Lord of gifts, you who love song and praise; drink of its strength. Whatever share of the Soma is rightfully yours, direct your presence there, and may it fill you with delight. Let not the head of the sacrifice reach your belly, Indra; rather, let your arms, O hero, claim the gift through the power of the sacred chant. Now, let your friends, those who bear praise, gather around you, Indra, and sing together in your honor. With Soma pressed, we seek you, Indra, the most generous among the generous, the lord of treasures. May you become our ally in gaining wealth, may you arrive with the gifts of Purandhi, bearing your banners high. In every contest and every battle for prizes, we call upon you, Indra, as our friend and helper. I invoke the ancient home, the mighty giver of abundant gifts, whom your father called upon before you. May he come, if he hears, bringing a thousandfold aid and his banners to our invocation. Indra, purify your strength and your hymn-worthy power in the pressed Somas; know the great skill of the ancient wise one. He, the ancient one, seated in the first heaven among the gods, is renowned and glorious, ever victorious in contests. I call upon that Indra, mighty in strength, to help us win wealth; be gracious to us, friend, and grant us increase. With reverence, I now call upon Agni, the offspring of strength, beloved, swift, righteous, immortal, the messenger of all. He is yoked with red steeds, all-providing, summoned swiftly by our offerings; the noble, well-ordered sacrifice brings the wealth of the gods to the people. Now dawn appears, the daughter of heaven, radiant and shining forth. With her gaze, she chooses the great waters, dispels the darkness, and creates light, the good and noble daughter. The sun rises with the dawns, moving with the stars, shining brilliantly; with the coming of the sun and its light, may we set forth together, each with our share. These dawns in heaven call to you, Ashvins; I too call upon you for help, givers of strength, as you travel from people to people. You bestow wondrous food, encourage the eloquent, and, united in mind, draw near with your chariot to drink the honeyed Soma. The ancient, shining milk is drawn by the cows for him—the rich milk from a thousand streams. Like the sun, he looks forth, running through the rivers, ascending the seven channels to the sky. This purified Soma stands above all the worlds, O people, like a god, not unlike the sun itself. This radiant one, pressed for the gods and of ancient birth, flows through the filter, tawny and bright. This god, with ancient wisdom, surpasses the other gods; the sage has grown strong with the inspired one. As the ancient milk is drawn, you are poured around the filter; with your cry, you have stirred the gods to birth. O purified one, instill fear in our enemies for those who seek to harm us; grant us wealth, O Soma. The gods have sought the drop born at dawn, swift-flowing, adorned with cows, beautifully clarified. Sing to him, men, to the purified Indu; the gods approach him with reverence. The wise Somas, like mighty buffaloes, lead the waters with their waves, moving through the forests. The tawny, shining ones, by the stream of truth, overflow the vessels, pouring forth strength rich in cattle. Let the pressed Somas flow for Indra, for Vāyu, for Varuṇa, for the Maruts, and for Viṣṇu. Soma, for the favor of the gods, swells like a river in flood; with the milk of the portion, like one awakened, he approaches the honey-dripping vessel. The bright, beloved one, like a dear son, is adorned in the vessel; the streams set him in motion, as rivers carry a chariot between their arms. The pressed Somas, full of exhilaration, have entered the contest for our fame and for the generous ones. Like a swan calling to its flock, they have awakened the thoughts of all; like a horse, he is unrestrained by the cows, moving freely and powerfully.