The king speaks aloud as he moves forward; wrapped in the waters, he seeks the cattle. The fleece holds his essence, yet it remains pure, and he seeks the divine space, cleansed and radiant.
You, Soma, are poured out for Indra by the people, balmed in the woods as a flowing stream, Sage, Observer of Mankind. Many are the paths you can take: a thousand horses rest in your cups.
Wise-hearted Soma, Apsores who dwell in the sea's waters sit and flow to you. They urge the master of the house onward and pray for eternal bliss.
Soma flows forth for you, the victor over cattle, the victor of thousands, horses, water, and light, and gold. He whom the gods have made a drink that cheers, the sweetest drop to taste, bringing us prosperity and red color.
As Pavamana, faithful friend, you flow for us, making real treasures. Slay the enemy, both near and far, and grant us security and ample pasture.