3The well-loved meath was made to flow, the stream of the creative juice: The Sage drew waters to himself.

4The mighty waters, yea, the floods accompany thee mighty one, When thou wilt clothe thee with the milk.

5The lake is brightened in the floods. Soma, our friend, heaven's prop and stay, Falls on the purifying cloth.

6The tawny Bull hath bellowed. fair as mighty Mitra to behold He gleams and flashes with the Sun.

7Songs, Indra, active in their might, are beautified for thee, wherewith Thou deckest thee for rapturous joy.

8To thee who givest ample room we pray, to win the wild delight, That Thou mayst have exalted praise,

9Winner of kine Indu, art thou, winner of heroes, steeds, and spoil: Primeval soul of sacrifice.

10Pour on us, Indu! Indra-strength with a full stream of sweetness, like Parianya, sender of the rain!