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1. SPONTANEOUS
let our drops of Soma juice flow on, pressed, golden-hued, among the Gods of
lofty heaven.
Perish among us they who give
no gifts of food! perish the godless! May our prayers obtain success.
2 Forward to us
the drops, distilling meath, shall flow, like riches for whose sake we urge the
horses on.
Beyond the crafty hindering of
all mortal men may we continually bear precious wealth away.
3 Yea, yerily,
foe of hate shown to himself is he, yea, verity, destroyer too of other hate.
As thirst subdueth in the
desert, conquer thou, O Soma Pavarnana, men of evil thoughts.
4 Near kin to
thee is he, raised loftiest in the heavens: upon the earth's high ridge thy
scions have grown forth.
The press-stones chew and
crunch thee on the ox's hide: sages have milked thee with their hands into the
streams.
5 So do they
hurry on thy strong and beauteous juice, O Indu, as the first ingredient of the
draught.
Bring low, thou Pavamana, every
single foe, and be thy might shown forth as sweet and gladdening drink.
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