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1. I SEND you forth the song of praise for
Indu, hero-gladdener.
With hymn and plenty he invites you to complete the
sacrifice.
2 Thou wishest for thy kine a bull, for
those who long for his approach,
For those who turn away from him, lord of thy cows whom none
may kill.
3 The dappled kine who stream with milk
prepare his draught of Soma juice:
Clans in the birth-place of the Gods, in the three luminous
realms of heaven.
4 Praise, even as he is known, with song
Indra the guardian of the kine,
The Son of Truth, Lord of the brave.
5 Hither his Bay Steeds have been sent, red
Steeds are on the sacred grass,,
Where we in concert sing our songs.
6 For Indra Thunder-armed the kine have
yielded mingled milk and meath,
What time he found them in the vault.
7 When I and Indra mount on high up to the
Bright One's place and home,
We, having drunk of meath, will reach his seat whose Friends
are three times seven.
8 Sing, sing ye forth your songs of praise,
ye Briyamedhas, sing your songs:
Yea, let young children sing their lauds as a strong castle
praise ye him.
9 Now loudly let the viol sound, the lute
send out its voice with might,
Shrill be, the music of the string. To Indra. is the hymn
up-raised.
10 When bither speed the dappled cows,
unflinching, easy to be milked,
Seize quickly, as it bursts away, the Soma juice for Indra's
drink.
11 Indra hath drunk, Agni hath drunk. all
Deities have drunk their fill.
Here Varuna shall have his home, to whom the floods have
sung aloud as motherkine unto their calves.
12 Thou, Varuna, to whom belong Seven
Rivers, art a glorious God.
The waters flow into thy throat as 'twere a pipe with ample
mouth.
13 He who hath made the fleet steeds
spring, well-harnessed, to the worshipper,
He, the swift Guide, is that fair form that loosed the
horses near at hand.
14 Indra, the very Mighty, holds his
enemies in utter scorn.
He, far away, and yet a child, cleft the cloud smitten by
his voice.
15 He, yet a boy exceeding small, mounted
his newly-fashioned car.
He for his Mother and his Sire cooked the wild mighty
buffalo.
16 Lord of the home, fair-helmeted, ascend
thy chariot wrought of gold.
We will attend the Heavenly One, the thousand-footed, red of
hue, matchless, who blesses where he goes.
17 With reverence they come hitherward to
him as to. a Sovran lord,
That they may bring him near for this man's good success, to
prosper and bestow his gifts.
18 The Priyamedhas have observed the
offering of the men of old,
Of ancient custom, while they strewed the sacred grass, and
spread their sacrificial food.
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