WHEN, Vasu, wilt thou love the mantra? Now let the channel bring the juice. The juice is ready to ferment.
He whose two Bay Steeds are well harnessed, swerving, pursue the Bird's tail-plumes, With rowing manes, like heaven and earth, he is the Lord with power to give.
Indra is bereft of skill if, like some weary man, he fears The sinner, when the Mighty has prepared himself for victory.
Indra drives round with these, until he meets with one to worship him: Indra is Master of the pair who snort and swerve upon their way.
Borne onward by the long-maned Steeds who stretch themselves as if for food, The God who wears the helm defends them with his jaws.
The Mighty sang with the Lofty Ones: the Hero fashioned with his strength, Like skilful Mātariśvan with his power and might,
The bolt, which pierced at once the vitals of the Dasyu easy to be slain, With jaw uninjured like the wondrous firmament.
Grind off our sins: with song will we conquer the men who sing no hymns: Not easily art thou pleased with prayerless sacrifice.
When threefold flame burns high for thee, to rest on poles of sacrifice, Thou with the living joyest in the self-bright Ship.
Thy glory was the speckled cup, thy glory was the flawless scoop. Wherewith thou pourest into thy receptacle.
As hundreds, O Immortal God, have sung to thee, so hath Sumitra, yea, Durmitra praised thee here, What time thou holpest Kutsa's son, when Dasyus fell, yea, holpest Kutsa's darling when the Dasyus died.