To Indra have the drops been poured, shed in the seat of offerings.

To Indra have the sages called.

In the stream's wave wise Indu dwells, distilling rapture, in his seat.

Indu is worshipped in the central point Of Heaven.

Indu sends forth a voice on high to regions of the sea of air, Shaking the vase that drops with meath.

The Tree whose praises never fail yields heavenly milk among our hymns.

The Wise One, with the Sage's stream, flows on to the dear places of the sky.

O Indu, bring us wealth bright with a thousand splendours. Yea. O Indu, give us ready help.