THE sages with the fingers' art have dressed and decked that vigorous Steed Upon the lap of Aditi,

The kine have called aloud to him exhaustless with a thousand streams, to Indu who supporteth Heaven.

Him, nourisher of many, Sage, creative Indu, they Have sent, by wisdom, to the sky.

Him, dweller with Vivasvān, they with use of both arms have sent forth, the Lord of Speech infallible.

Him, green, beloved, many eyed, the Sisters with prosing stones Send down to ridges of the sieve.

O Indu, indu, monks hurry thee on to Indra, thee Who aidest song and cheerest him.