1 May our hymns give Thee great delight. Display Thy bounty, Thunderer.

Drive off the enemies of prayer.

2 Crush with Thy foot the niggard churls who bring no gifts. Mighty art Thou

There is not one to equal Thee.

3 Thou art the Lord of Soma pressed, Soma impressed is also Thine.

Thou art the Sovereign of the folk.

4 Come, go Thou forth, listening to the prayers of men:

Thou fillest both the heavens and earth.

5 Even that hill with rocky heights, with hundreds, thousands, held within.

Thou for Thy worshippers brakest through.

6 We call on Thee both night and day to accept the flowing Soma gift:

Do Thou fulfil our heart's desire.

7 Where is that ever-youthful Steer, strong-necked and never yet bent down?

What scholar ministers to Him?

8 To whose libation doth the Steer betake Him with delight therein?

Who takes delight in God now?

9 Whom, Vrtra-slayer, have Thy gift and hero powers accompanied?

Who is Thy dearest in the laud?

10 For Thee among mankind, among the Purus is this Soma shed.

Hasten Thou hither: receive it.

11 This, growing by Soma and by Saryanavan, dear to Thee,

In Arjikiya, cheers Thee best.

12 Hasten Thou hitherward, and accept this for munificence to-day,

Delightful for Thine eager gift.