XVII Indra

1. To Indra, to the mighty let these golden-coloured juices go,

Drops born as Law prescribes, that find the light of heaven!

2. This juice that gathers spoil flows, pressed, for Indra, for his maintenance.

Soma bethinks him of the conqueror, as he knows.

3. Yea, Indra in the joys of this obtains the grasp that gathers spoil,

And, winning waters, wields the mighty thunderbolt.