They purify the golden one; like a red horse he is yoked, and Soma is mixed with milk in the pot. He sends out his voice, and many of his loving friends, the highly praised ones, hasten with their songs.
Many sages speak in unison, pouring Soma into Indra’s mouth, When, with the ten who live close together, skilled hands cleanse the lovely meath.
He travels on his path, undisturbed, to the cows, over the roaring sound that Surya’s daughter loves. The falcon brought it to him for his own pleasure; now with the two kindred sisters is his home.
Washed by the men, stone-pressed, dear on the holy grass, faithful to seasons, Lord of cattle from old, Most generous, completing sacrifices for men, O Indra, pure and bright Soma, Indu, flows for you.
O Indra, urged by men’s arms and flowing in streams, Soma flows for you after your divine kind. You fulfill plans, gather thoughts for sacrifice; in the bowls sits the golden one like a roosting bird.
Skilled artisans, wise, draw out the stalk that roars, the sage, the everlasting one. The milk and hymns unite them at the sacrificial place, his seat produced anew.
From the center of the earth, sustainer of mighty heavens, distilled into streams, into the water’s wave, As Indra’s thunderbolt, steer with far-spreading wealth, Soma flows to make the heart rejoice.
Flow over the earthly region, help the praise and the offering, you Most Wise. May we not lack rich treasures reaching to our home, and may we clothe ourselves in manifold bright wealth.
Hither, O Indu, with a hundred gifts of horses, a thousand gifts of cattle and gold, Measure you forth, indeed, splendid and ample strengthening food, O Pavamana, heed this praise.