To him most generous, lofty Lord of great wealth, truly powerful and strong, I offer my hymn— Whose boundless bounty, like water flowing down a slope, is spread wide for all that live, to give them strength.
Now all this world, for worship, will come after you—offerings like floods to the depth, When the beloved one rests upon the hill, Indra’s thunderbolt, shattering the golden mass.
To him the terrible, most fitting for lofty praise, like bright Dawn, now bring gifts with reverence in this rite, Whose being, for fame, indeed, Indra’s power and light, have been created, like swift horses, to move with speed.
Praised by many, Indra, wonderfully rich! We who trust in your help draw near to you. Lover of praise, no other receives our song: as Earth loves all her creatures, love this our hymn.
Great is your power, O Indra, we are yours. Fulfill, O Maghavan, the wish of this worshipper. After you, lofty heaven has measured out its strength: to you and to your power, this earth bows low.
You, who have thunder as your weapon, with your bolt shattered the broad massive cloud. You sent down the blocked waters so they may flow: you, ever victorious, all might.