1 Pressed is the pure juice of God's provision with milk commingled: thereto hath the Mighty One ever been accustomed.

We wake Thee, Lord of Bays, with praises: mark this our laud in the wild joy of thanksgiving.

2 On to the rite they move, the grass they scatter, these givers of thanks eloquent in assembly.

Hither, for men to grasp, are brought the press-stones, far-thundering, famous, strong, that wait on heroes.

3 O God, Thou settest free the many waters that were encompassed, Hero, by the Dragon.

Down rolled, as if on chariots borne, the rivers: through fear of Thee all things created tremble.

4 Skilled in all manly deeds the God terrific hath with His weapons mastered these opponents.

The Mighty One in rapturous joy shook down their castles; He slew them in His might, the Thunder-wielder.

5 No evil spirits have impelled us, O God, nor fiends, O Mightiest, with their devices.

Let our true God subdue the hostile rabble: let not the lewd approach our holy worship.

6 Thou in Thy strength surpassest Earth and Heaven: the regions comprehend not all Thy greatness.

With Thine own power and might Thou slewest Vrtra: no foe hath found the end of Thee in battle.

7 Even the earlier powers submitted their might to Thy supreme divine dominion.

God wins wealth and deals it out to others: men in the strife for booty call on God.

8 The humble hath invoked Thee for protection, Thee, Lord of great felicity, O Mighty One.

Thou with a hundred aids hast been our Helper: one who brings gifts like Thee hath his defender.

9 May we, O Mighty One, be Thy friends for ever, eagerly, Conqueror, yielding greater homage.

May, through Thy grace, the strength of us who battle quell in the shock the onset of the foeman.

10 Place us by food which Thou hast given, O God, us and the wealthy patrons who command us.

Let Thy great power bring good to him who lauds Thee. Preserve us evermore with blessings.