I am ready to sing praises to the noble ones who dwell in earth and sky, Or to the swift horses that won the race, or to the heroes who claimed a glorious prize.
Their call to the gods rose high to heaven; they kissed the earth with a spirit seeking glory, There where the gods look down with blessings, and like the kindly skies shower their gifts.
This is the song of the immortal beings who seek treasures in their perfect state. May these, completing prayers and offerings, grant us wealth without any lack.
Those living men extol your deeds, O Indra, those who wish to break through the cow stall, To milk the one who gave birth just once, great, lofty, with many sons and countless streams.
Saciv, win to your aid Indra who never bows, who overcomes his enemies. Ṛbhukṣa, Maghavan, the hymn's upholder, who, rich in food, is man's kind friend, the thunder.
Since he who won anew in days of old, Indra has earned the name of Vṛtra-slayer. He has appeared, the mighty Lord of Victory. Let what we ask of him, may he fulfill.