Come here and sit down, sing a hymn to Indra, dear friends,
To him, the richest of the rich, the lord of treasures excellent, Indra, with Soma juice poured out.
May he stand by us in our need and be abundant for our wealth, May he come near us with his might.
Whose pair of tawny horses, yoked in battle, foes dare not challenge: To him, to Indra, sing your song.
Come close to the Soma drinker, for his enjoyment, these pure drops, The Somas mixed with curds.
You, grown to perfect strength, were born to drink the Soma juice, Strong Indra, for preeminence.
O Indra, lover of the song, may these quick Somas enter you: May they bring bliss to you, Sage.
Our praises have strengthened you, O Śatakratu, and our lauds So strengthen you the songs we sing.
Indra, whose succor never fails, accept these offerings tenfold, Wherein all manly powers abide.
O Indra, you who love song, let no man harm our bodies, keep Slaughter far from us, for you can.