COME to the juice that we have pressed, to Soma, Indra, bleat with milk: Come, favouring us, thy Bay-drawn car!

Come, Indra, to this gladdening drink, placed on the grass, pressed out with stones: Wilt thou not drink thy fill thereof?

To Indra have my songs of praise gone forth, thus rapidly sent hence, to turn him to the Soma-draught.

Hither with songs of praise we call Indra juice: Will he not come to us by lauds?

Indra, these Somas are expressed. Take them within thy belly, Lord Of Hundred Powers, thou Prince of Wealth.

We know thee winner of the spoil, and resolute in battles, Sage! Therefore thy blessing we implore.

Borne hither by thy Stallions, drink, Indra, this juice which we have pressed, Mingled with barley and with milk.

Indra, for thee, in thine own place, I urge the Soma for thy draught: Deep in thy heart let it remain,

We call on thee, the Ancient One, Indra, juice, We Kuśikas who seek thine aid.