1 The Mighty One I praise, to win His aid, far-famed, exceeding bountiful, Who gives, as 'twere in thousands, precious wealth to him who sheds the juice and worships Him.

2 Arrows with hundred points, unconquerable, are this Lord's mighty arms in war.

He streams on liberal worshippers like a hill with springs, when juices poured have gladdened Him.

3 What time the flowing Soma-drops have gladdened with their taste the Friend,

Like water, gracious Lord! were my libations made, like milch-kine to the worshipper.

4 To Him the peerless, who is calling you to give you aid, forth flow the drops of pleasant meath.

The Soma-drops which call on Thee, O gracious Lord, have brought Thee to our hymn of praise.

5 He rushes hurrying like a steed to Soma that adorns our rite,

Which hymns make sweet to Thee, lover of pleasant food. The call to Paura Thou dost love.

6 Praise the strong, grasping Hero, winner of the spoil, ruling supreme o'er mighty wealth.

Like a full spring, O Thunderer, from Thy store hast Thou poured on the worshipper evermore.

7 Now whether Thou be far away, or in the heavens, or on the earth,

O Lord, mighty-thoughted, come, Lofty with the Lofty.

8 The Bays who draw Thy chariot, Steeds who injure none, surpass the wind's impetuous strength-

With whom Thou silencest the enemy of man, with whom Thou goest round the sky.

9 O gracious Hero, may we learn anew to know Thee as Thou art:

As in decisive fight Thou holpest Etasa, or Vasa 'gainst Dasavraja,

10 As, O Bountiful, to Kanva at the sacred feast, to Dirghanitha Thine home-friend,

As to Gosarya Thou, Stone-darter, gavest wealth, give me a gold-bright stall of kine.