THAT Indra is our youthful Friend, who with his trusty guidance led Turvasha and Yadu from afar.
Even to the dull and uninspired Indra, gives vital power, and wins Even with slow steed the offered prize.
Great are his ways of guiding us, and his praises never fade: His kind protections never fail.
Friends, sing your psalm and offer praise to him to whom the prayer is brought: For our great Providence is he.
Thou, Slaughterer of Vṛtra, art Guardian and Friend of one and two, Yea, of a man like one of us.
Beyond men’s hate thou leadest us, and givest cause to sing thy praise: Good hero art thou called by men.
I call with hymns, as ’twere a cow to milk, the Friend who merits praise, The Brahman who accepts the prayer.
Him in whose hands they say are stored all treasures from the days of old, The Hero, conquering in the fight.
Lord of Strength, Caster of the Stone, destroy the firm forts built by men, And foil their arts, unbending God!
Thee, thee as such, O Lord of Power, O Indra, Soma-drinker, true, We, fain for glory, have invoked.
Such as thou wast of old, and art now to be called on when the prize lies ready, listen to our call.
With hymns and coursers we will gain, Indra, both steeds and spoil Most glorious, and the proffered prize.
Thou, Indra, Lover of the Song, whom men must stir to help, hast been Great in the contest for the prize.
Slayer of foes, whatever aid of thine imparts the swiftest course, With that impel our car to speed.
As skilfullest of those who drive the chariot, with our art and aim, O Conqueror, win the proffered prize.
Praise him who, Matchless and Alone, was born the Lord of living men, Most active, with heroic soul.
Thou who hast been the singers’ Friend, a Friend auspicious with thine aid, As such, O Indra, favour us.
Grasp in thine arms the