To him most liberal, lofty Lord of lofty wealth, verily powerful and strong, I bring my hymn. Whose checkless bounty, as of waters down a slope, is spread abroad for all that live, to give them strength.

Now all this world, for worship, shall come after thee—the offerer's libations like floods to the depth, when the well-loved one seems to rest upon the hill, the thunderbolt of Indra, wrought of gold.

To him, most meet for lofty praise, now bring gifts with reverence in this rite, whose being, for renown, yea, Indra-power and light, have been created, like bay steeds, to move with speed.

Thine, Indra, praised by many, excellently rich! are we who trusting in thy help draw near to thee.

Lover of praise, non else but thou receives our laud: as Earth loves all her creatures, love thou this our hymn.

Great is thy power, O Indra, we are thine. Fulfil, O Indra, the wish of this thy worshipper. After thee lofty Heaven hath measured out its strength: to thee and to thy power this Earth hath bowed itself.

Thou, who hast thunder for thy weapon, with thy bolt hast shattered into pieces this broad massive cloud. Thou hast sent down the obstructed floods that the, may flow: thou hast, thine own forever, all victorious might.