Bring us a thousand, Indra, as our reward for the Soma drink:
Hundreds of cows, O Hero, bring.
Bring cattle, bring us ornaments, bring us adornments and horses,
Give us, besides, two rings of gold.
And, Bold One, bring in abundance rich jewels to adorn the ears,
For you, Good Lord, are greatly renowned.
None other is there for the priest, Hero! But you, to give him gifts,
To win much plunder and prosperity for him.
Indra can never be brought low, Śakra can never be subdued:
He hears and sees all things.
He spies the anger of men, one who can never be deceived:
Before blame comes, he marks it.
He has his mighty belly, the Vṛtra slayer, Conqueror,
The Soma drinker, commanding all.
In you all treasures are combined, Soma, all blessed things within you,
Uninjured, easily bestowed.
To you my hope craves the gift of grain and cows and gold,
Even the craving horses, speed to you.
Indra, grasping hope in you alone, even this sickle do I hold.
Fill my hand, Maghavan, with all that it can hold of barley cut or gathered up.