1
Swift Soma drops have flowed in streams of mead, the joyous drink, For all kinds of sacred knowledge.
2
Hither to a new resting-place the ancient Living Ones have come. They made the Sun so he might shine.
3
O Pavamana, grant us the wealth of the uninvited foe, And give us sustenance with offspring.
4
The living Somas purified diffuse exhilarating drink, Turned to the vat that drips with mead.
5
Soma flows on wise, endowed with sap and mighty strength, Brave Hero who repels the curse.
6
For Indra, Soma! You are cleansed, a feast-companion for the gods: Indra, you will gladly win us strength.
7
When he has drunk this draught, Indra smites down resolute foes: Yes, he smites them, and will smite them still.