As cows low to their calves in stalls, so with our songs we glorify This Indra, even your Wondrous Deva who checks attack, who joys in the delicious juice.

Celestial, bounteous Giver, girt about with might, rich, mountain-like, in precious things, him swift we seek. for foodful booty rich in kine, brought hundredfold and thousandfold.

Indra, the strong and lofty hills are powerless to bar thy way.

None stay that act of thine when thou wouldst fain give wealth to one like me who sings thy praise.

A Warrior thou by strength, wisdom, and wondrous deed, in might excellest all that is. Hithe, may this our hymn attract thee to our help, the hymn which Gotamas have made.

For in thy might thou stretchest out beyond the boundaries of Heaven. The earthly region, Indra, comprehends thee not. After thy Godhead hast thou waxed.

When, Indra, thou honourest the worshipper, no one is there to stay thy wealth. Most liberal Giver thou, do thou inspire our song of praise, that we may win the spoil.