Strong rapturous joy, praise, glory are with Indra: impetuous God, he drinks the Soma juice: That Maghavan whom men must sing about, Heaven-dweller, King of songs, whose help endures.
He, friend of man, most wise, victorious Hero, listens, with far-reaching aid, the singer calling him. Excellent, Praise of Men, the bard’s Supporter, Strong, he gives strength, extolled in holy assembly.
The lofty axle of your wheels, O Hero, surpasses neither heaven nor earth in grandeur. Like branches of a tree, many aids sprout from you, O Indra, manifold in number.
Strong Lord, your energies, endowed with vigor, are like the paths of cattle converging home. Like bonds of cord, Indra, that bind the young, no bonds are they, O you of boundless bounty.
One act today, another tomorrow—Indra often makes what isn’t yet existent. Here we have Mitra, Varuṇa, and Pūṣan to overcome the foe’s dominion.
By song and sacrifice, men bring the waters from you, as from a mountain’s ridge, O Indra. Urging your might, with these fair praises they seek you, O theme of song, as horses rush to battle.
That Indra who neither months nor autumn seasons wither with age, nor fleeting days enfeeble— May his body wax, so mighty, glorified by the lauds and hymns that praise him.
Extolled, he bows not to the strong, the steadfast, nor to the bold incited by the Dasyu. High mountains are as level plains to Indra: even in the deep he finds firm ground to rest on.
Impetuous Speeder through all depth and distance, give strengthening food, you drinker of the juices. Stand up erect to help us, unreluctant, when the gloom of night brightens to morning.
Hasting to help, come hither and protect him, keep him from harm when he is here, O Indra. At home, abroad, from injury preserve him. May brave sons gladden us through a hundred winters.