2Sing forth, ye men who long for help, to Pavamana, to the Sage, Effused to entertain the Gods.

3The Soma−drops with thousand powers are purified for victory, Hymned to become the feast of Gods.

4Yea, as thou flowest bring great store of food that we may win the spoil Indu, bring splendid manly might.

5May they in flowing give us wealth in thousands, and heroic power,− These Godlike Soma−drops effused.

6Like coursers by their drivers urged, they were poured forth, for victory, Swift through the woollen straining−cloth.

7Noisily flow the Soma−drops, like milch−kine lowing to their calves: They have run forth from both the hands.

8As Gladdener whom Indra loves, O Pavamana, with a roar Drive all our enemies away.

9O Pavamamas, driving off the godless, looking on the light, Sit in the place of s acrifice.