2Washed by the men, pressed out with stones, strained through the filter made of wool, 'Tis like a courser bathed in stream.

3This juice have we made sweet for thee like barley, blending it with milk. Indra, I call thee to our feast.

4Beloved of all, Indra alone drinks up the flowing Soma juice Among the Gods andmortal men.

5The Friend, whom not the brilliant−hued, the badly−mixt or bitter draught, Repels, the far−extending God;

6While other men than we with milk chase him as hunters chase a deer, And with their kine inveigle him.

7For him, for Indra, for the God, be pressed three draughts of Soma juice In the juice−drinker's own abode.

8Three reservoirs exude their drops, filled are three beakers to the brim, All for one offering to the God.

9Pure art thou, set in many a place, and blended in the midst with milk And curd, to cheer the Hero best.

10Here, Indra, are thy Soma−draughts pressed out by us, the strong, the pure: They crave admixture of the milk.

11O Indra, pour in milk, prepare the cake, and mix the Soma−draught. I hear them say that thou art rich.

12Quaffed juices fight within the breast. The drunken praise not by their wine, The naked praise not when it rains.

13Rich be the praiser of one rich, munificent and famed like thee: High rank be his, O Lord of Bays.

14Foe of the man who adds no milk, he heeds not any chanted hymn Or holy psalm that may he sung.

15Give us not, Indra, as a prey unto the scornful or the proud: Help, Mighty One, with power and might.

16This, even this, O Indra, we implore. as thy devoted friends, The Kanvas praise thee with their hymns.

17Naught else, O Thunderer, have I praised in the skilled singer's eulogy: On thy land only have I thought.

18The Gods seek him who presses out the Soma; they desire not sleep They punish sloth unweariedly.

19Come hither swift with gifts of wealth − be not thou angry with us−like A great man with a youthful bride.

20Let him not, wrathful with us, spend the evening far from us to−day, Like some unpleasant son−in−law.

21For well we know this Hero's love, most liberal of the boons he gives, His plans whom the three worlds display.

22Pour forth the gift which Kanvas bring, for none more glorious do we know Than the Strong Lord with countless aids.

23O presser, offer Soma first to Indra, Hero, Sakra, him The Friend of man, that he may drink;

24Who, in untroubled ways, is best provider, for his worshippers. Of strength in horses and in kine.

25Pressers, for him blend Soma juice, each draught most excellent, for him The Brave, the Hero, for his joy.

26The Vrtra−slayer drinks the juice. May he who gives a hundred aids Approach, nor stay afar from us.

27May the strong Bay Steeds, yoked by prayer, bring hither unto us our Friend, Lover of Song, renowned by songs.

28Sweet are the Soma juices, come! Blent are the Soma juices, come! Rsi−like, mighty, fair of cheek, come hither quickly to the feast.

29And lauds which strengthen thee for great bounty and valour, and exalt Indra who doeth glorious deeds,

30And songs to thee who lovest song, and all those hymns addressed to thee− These evermore confirm thy might.

31Thus he, sole doer of great deeds whose hand holds thunder, gives us strength, He who hath never been subdued.

32Vrtra he slays with his right hand, even Indra, great with mighty power, And much−invoked in many a place.

33He upon whom all men depend, all regions, all achievements, he Takes pleasure in our wealthy chiefs.

34All this hath he accomplished, yea, Indra, most gloriously renowned, Who gives our wealthy princes strength.

35Who drives his chariot seeking spoil, from afar, to him he loves: For swift is he to bring men wealth.

36The Sage who, winning spoil with steeds, slays Vrtra, Hero with the men, His servant's faithful succourer.

37O Priyamedhas, worship with collected mind this Indra whom The Soma hath full well inspired.

38Ye Kanvas, sing the Mighty One, Lord of the Brave, who loves renown, All−present, glorified by song.

39Strong Friend, who, with no trace of feet, restores the cattle to the men, Who rest their wish and hope on him.

40Shaped as a Ram, Stone−hurler I once thou camest hither to the son Of Kanva, wise Medhyatithi.

41Vibhindu, thou hast helped this man, giving him thousands four times ten, And afterward eight thousand more.

42And these twain pouring streams of milk, creative, daughters of delight, For wedlock sake I glorify.