Made pure by this man's fervent zeal and desire, the God has given his essence to the gods. He goes, effused and singing, to the filter, like a priest to measured seats supplied with cattle.
Dressed in fine attire fit for battle, a sage pronounces invocations. Roll onward to the beakers as they cleanse you, far-seeing at the feast of gods, and watchful.
Dear, he is brightened on the fluffy summit, a prince among us, nobler than the noble. Roar out as you are purified, run forward. Preserve us evermore with blessings.
Let us sing praises to the gods: sing loudly, send forth the Soma for great wealth. Let it flow, sweetly-flavored, through the filter, and may our pious one rest in the pitcher.
Winning the friendship of the gods, Indu flows in a thousand streams to make them joyful. Praised by the men according to ancient statutes, he has come close, for our great happiness, to Indra.
Flow, gold-hued, enriching you, to the singer: let your juice go to Indra to support him. Come near, together with the gods, for bounty. Preserve us evermore with blessings.
The god proclaims the generations of the gods, like Uśanā, proclaiming lofty wisdom. With brilliant kin, ruling far and sanctifying, the boar advances, singing, to the places.
The swans, the Vrsaganas from near us, bring their restless spirit to our dwelling. Friends come to Pavamana for praise, and sound in concert their irresistible music.
He follows the wide-strider’s rapid movement: cows moo, as if, to him who plays at pleasure. He with the sharp horns brings forth abundance: the Silvery shines by night, the Golden by day.
Strong Indu, bathed in milk, flows for Indra, Soma excites strength, to make him joyful. He quells malignities and slays the demons, the King of mighty power who brings us comfort.
Then in a stream he flows, milked out with press-stones, mingled with sweetness, through the fleecy filter. Indu rejoicing in the love of Indra, the god who gladdens, for the god’s enjoyment.
As he is purified, he pours out treasures,