We've drunk these sweet draughts in praise of Soma, the offering made by the wise Soma presser, Whereby, grown mighty in yore time, Indra found delight, and those who worship find favor.
With this mead, Indra, whose hand wields thunder, he rent the monster Ahi, who barred the waters, Allowing the rivers to flow like birds to their resting places, quickening all along the way.
Indra, this mighty one, the slayer of the dragon, sent forth the flood to the ocean. He gave the Sun its life, he found the cattle, and with the night completed the works of day.
To him who worships, Indra, has given many gifts. He slays Vṛtra. He was sought with prayers by those who struggled to obtain the sunlight.
To him who pours him gifts, Indra, the mighty, the God, gave Sūrya; to the mortal. He gave Etaśa wealth that keeps distress at bay, as if it were his due.
To Kutsa, the driver of his chariot, he gave greedy Sūrya, the plague of harvest; And Indra, for the sake of Divodāsa, demolished Śambara's ninety castles.
So have we brought our hymn to you, O Indra, strengthening you and ourselves for glory. May we with best efforts gain this friendship, and may you bend the godless scorner's weapons.
Thus the Gṛtsamadas have worked their hymn and task as seekers of favor. May they who worship you anew, O Indra, gain food and strength, bliss, and a happy dwelling.
Now may that wealthy Cow of yours, O Indra, give back a boon to him who praises you, Give to your praisers: let not fortune fail us. Loud may we speak, with heroes, in assembly.