IN the forefront of the ranks goes the Hero, the Leader, bringing plunder: his army rejoices. Soma endows his robes of lasting colours, and blesses, for his friends, their calls on Indra.
Men adorned with gold adorn his golden tendril, incessantly with impelling homage. The Friend of Indra mounts his car knowing well, he comes thereon to meet the prayer we offer.
O God, for service of the Gods flow onward, for sublime food, as Indra’s drink, O Soma. Making the floods, bedewing earth and heaven, come from the vast, comfort us while we cleanse thee
Flow for prosperity and constant Vigour, flow on for happiness and high perfection. This is the wish of these friends assembled: this is my wish, O Soma Pavamana.
Father of holy hymns, Soma flows onward the Father of the earth, Father of heaven: Father of Agni, Sūrya’s generator, the Father who begat Indra and Viṣṇu.
Brahman of Gods, the Leader of the poets, Ṛṣi of sages, Bull of savage creatures, Falcon amid the vultures, Axe of forests, over the cleansing sieve goes Soma singing.
He, Soma Pavamana, like a river, stirs the wave of voice, our songs and praises. Beholding these inferior powers in cattle, he rests among them as a Steer well-knowing.
As Gladdener, Warrior never harmed in battle, with thousand genial streams, pour strength and vigour. As thoughtful Pavamana, urge O Indu, speeding the kine, the plant’s wave on to Indra.
Dear, grateful to the Gods, on to the beaker moves Soma, sweet to Indra, to delight him. With hundred powers, with thousand currents, Indu, like a strong car-horse, goes to the assembly.
Born in old time as finder-out of treasures, drained with the stone, decking himself in waters, Warding off curses, King of all existence, he shall find way for prayer the while they cleanse him.
For our sage fathers, Soma Pavamana, of old performed, by thee, their sacred duties. Fighting unvanquished, open the enclosures: enrich us with large gifts of steeds and heroes.
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