The Soma stream flows, seen by all, by eternal law, calling the gods from heaven. It lights with Brhaspati’s roar, no lake can hold its juice.
You, mighty Soma, to whom the cows low, rise bright in iron home, for Indra’s joyous drink.
Bestower of delight, you flow to Indra’s throat, clothed in might, auspicious one, for fame. You spread across, meeting all that is, the swift Tawny Horse, flowing on his way.
Men, ten swift-fingered ones, draw you for gods, rich in mead, with thousand streams. You, Soma, glad Indra, and the Heavenly Host, flow like Pavamana, like a river’s wave.
Skilled men with stones, ten swift-fingered ones, drain you into waters, you, the Steed filled with sweetness. You, Soma, glad Indra, and the Heavenly Host, flow like Pavamana, like a river’s wave.