Those who bear the sacred name and are worthy of sacrifice return once more to the womb, following their own cosmic law. Indra, with his fires, finds even the hidden one, breaking open the enclosure and pursuing the cows. I invoke those two ancient powers—Indra and Agni—by whom all this was accomplished in ages past. We call upon Indra and Agni, fierce and relentless destroyers of obstacles, beseeching them to grant us their favor. They strike down the hostile Vṛtras and the Dasyus, true lords who vanquish all enemies. The pressed, exhilarating Somas flow forth, wise and brimming with delight, surging across the ocean’s surface, eager and overflowing with ecstasy. Purifying as they cross the ocean with their wave, Soma, king and god, great in truth, flows onward by the ordinance of Mitra and Varuṇa, impelling the great truth. The king, god of the ocean, adorned by men, splendid and discerning, is manifest before all. He utters three voices: the fire sends forth the inspiration of truth and the wisdom of the priest; the cows go to their lord, inquiring, and the thoughts, filled with longing, reach toward Soma. The cows, milch-kine, longing, go to Soma; the wise, with their thoughts, inquire after him. Soma, pressed and purified, is praised, and the hymns, the triṣṭubh verses, are joined to him. As Soma is poured out and purified, he flows for our well-being, entering Indra with his vast intoxication, generating abundant speech for us. Even if Indra had hundreds and hundreds of heavens and earths, not even a thousand suns could match him, nor both worlds together at birth. Indra has expanded with his mighty power, most vigorous and powerful by his strength. We ask him to protect us, generous one, in the cattle-rich prize, wielder of the bolt, with splendid aids. Having pressed Soma, we approach Indra as waters approach the altar; at the outpourings of the purifier, O slayer of Vṛtra, your worshippers are assembled. O Vasu, when you are pressed, men call to you with hymns; when will you, longed for, come to our home, Indra, resounding like the sound of a bamboo flute? With the Kanvas, O mighty one, we have seen you—the banner-bearer, the thousand-gifter, Maghavan, of tawny form, wise one; swiftly we seek the wealth abounding in cattle. The swift one, eager to win, seeks the prize with Purandhi as his yokemate; to you, Indra, much-invoked, I bow with song, as to a well-fashioned, firm wheel-rim. No ill-praised one is praised among the wealthy, nor does a failing treasure remain; O Maghavan, for you, the mighty, let there be for the generous what is best in the highest heaven. Three voices rise up: the cows low, the milch-cows call, and the tawny one bellows aloud. The Brahman-prayers have followed, the young mothers of truth, purifying the child of heaven. O Soma, from every side pour forth for us the four oceans of wealth, abounding in thousands. Let the most honeyed, pressed Somas, delightful for Indra, with filters, reach the gods unfailing with their exhilarations. “Indu is pressed for Indra,” so said the gods; the Lord of Speech rejoices in the sacrifice, the master of all strength. With a thousand streams the ocean flows, seeking speech; Soma, lord of treasures, with Indra as friend, day by day. Your filter is spread out, O Lord of Prayer; you move around all bodies as master. One whose body is unheated, the weak, does not attain that; those who are purified, carrying the offering, reach it together. The heat-filter is spread in the seat of heaven; its threads, shining, are extended. The purifying flames, as its filters, ascend the back of heaven with their brilliance. The first-born bull of Prishni shone forth at dawn, roaring for strength in the worlds; the magicians measured him by their magic, and the seers, with human sight, placed the embryo. Sing to the greatest, the most glorious, the upholder of order, the radiant, the mighty; those praised approach Agni. Maghavan, famed for heroic men, is kindled, summoned with glory; may his favor come to us, may he approach with prizes. We praise that exhilaration of yours, O mighty one, strong in the press, victorious, creator of worlds, stone-armed, of golden splendor. By which you have discerned the lights for Ayu and for Manu, delighting in this seat, you shine forth in splendor. So today, O thoughtful ones, the singers praise as before; the waters, spouses of the mighty, win day by day. Hear our invocation, O Indra, for the one who worships you; you are great, fulfill us with abundant heroic strength, with wealth of cattle. O Indra, he who has created a newer, delightful song, who has fashioned a wise and ancient, nourishing thought of truth—let us praise him, Indra, whom hymns have strengthened; seeking his many gifts, let us strive to win his favor. O Pavamana, the divine Ashvins’ cows have flowed forth with milk upon the altar; from the atmosphere, the ancient ones have streamed, those whom the inspired, skillful ones cleanse. On both sides of the pure one, the rays, steadfast as banners, circle when the tawny one is purified upon the filter; he sits established in the womb, in the vessels. All abodes, all-seeing, the banners of the skillful, the mighty, circle around the steadfast one; Soma, you flow widely by your law, lord of all beings, king of the world. Pavamana has generated from the sky a wondrous, thunder-like sound, a great, universal light. O Pavamana, your juice, your exhilaration, O king, unimpeded, rushes through every barrier.