WHEN Will men's guardians hasting hear with favour the song of Aṅgiras's pious children? When to the people of the home he cometh he strideth to the offering, the Holy.
He stablished Heaven; he poured forth, skilful worker, the wealth of kine, for strength, that nurtures heroes.
The Mighty One his self-born host regarded, the horse's mate, the mother of the heifer.
Lord of red dawns, he came victorious, daily to the Aṅgirases' former invocation. His bolt and team hath he prepared, and stablished the Heaven for quadrupeds and men two-footed.
In joy of this thou didst restore, for worship, the lowing company of hidden cattle. When the three-pointed one descends with onslaught he opens wide the doors that cause man trouble.
Thine is that milk which thy swift-moving Parents brought down, a strengthening genial gift for conquest; When the pure treasure unto thee they offered, the milk shed from the cow who streameth nectar.
There is he born. May the Swift give us rapture, and like the Sun shine forth from yonder dawning, indu, even us who drank, whose toils are offerings, poured from the spoon, with praise, upon the altar.
When the wood-pile, made of good logs, is ready, at the Sun's worship to bind fast the Bullock, then when thou shinest forth through days of action for the Car-borne, the Swift, the Cattle-seeker.
Eight steeds thou broughtest down from mighty Heaven, when fighting for the well that giveth splendour, that men might press with stones the gladdening yellow, strengthened with milk, fermenting, to exalt thee.
Thou hurledst forth from Heaven the iron missile, brought by the Skilful, from the sling of leather, when thou, O Much-invoked, assisting Kutsa with endless deadly darts didst compass Śuṣṇa.
Bolt-armed, ere darkness overtook the sunlight, thou castest at the veiling cloud thy weapon, Thou rentest, out of Heaven, though firmly knotted, the might of Śuṣṇa that was thrown around him.
The mighty Heaven and Earth, those bright expanses that have no wheels, joyed, Indra, at thine exploit. Vṛtra, the boar who lay amid the waters, to sleep thou sentest with thy mighty thunder.
Mount Indra, lover of the men thou guardest, the well-yoked horses of the wind, best bearers. The bolt which Kāvya Uśanā erst gave thee, strong, gladdening, Vṛtra-subduing, hath he fashioned.
The strong Bay Horses of the Sun thou stayedst: this Etaśa drew not the wheel, O Indra. Casting them forth beyond the ninety rivers thou dravest down into the pit the godless.
Indra, preserve thou us from this affliction Thunder-armed, save us from the misery near us. Vouchsafe us affluence in chariots, founded on horses, for our food and fame and gladness.
Neve. May this thy loving-kindness fail us; mighty in strength. May plenteous food surround us. Indra, make us share the foeman's cattle. May we be thy most liberal feast companions.