1We compass thee like water, we whose grass is trimmed and Soma pressed. Here where the filter pours its stream, thy worshippers round thee, O Vritra-slayer, sit.

2Men, Vasu! by the Soma with lauds call thee to the foremost place. When cometh he athirst unto the juice as home, O Indra, like a bellowing bull?

3O valiant hero, boldly win thousandfold spoil with Kanva's sons! O active Maghavan, with eager prayer we crave the yellowhued with store of kine.