1 SING forth to Indu, O ye men, to him who is purified, Fain to pay worship to the Gods.
2 Together with thy pleasant juice the Atharvans have commingled milk, Divine, devoted to the God.
3 Bring, by thy flowing, weal to kine, weal to the people, weal to steeds. Weal, O thou King, to growing plants
4 Sing a praise-song to Soma brown of hue, of independent might. The Red, who reaches up to heaven.
5 Purify Soma when effused with stones which bands move rapidly, And pour the sweet milk in the meath.
6 With humble homage draw ye nigh; blend the libation with the curds: To Indra offer Indu up.
7 Soma, foe-que chief o’er men, doing the will of pour forth Prosperity upon our kine.
8 Heart-knower, Sovran of the heart, thou art effused, O Soma, that Indra may drink thee and rejoice.
9 O Soma Pavamana, give us riches and heroic strength,— Indu! with. Indra for ally.
1 To Indra have the Soma drops, exceeding rich in sweets, been poured, Shed in the seat of sacrifice.
2 As mother kine low to their calves, to Indra have the sages called, Called him to drink the Soma juice.
3 In the stream's wave wise Soma dwells, distilling rapture, in his seat, Resting upon a wiId-cow's hide.
4 Far-sighted Soma, Sage and Seer, is worshipped in the central point Of heaven, the straining-cloth of wool.
5 In close embraces Indu holds Soma when poured within the jars. And on the. purifying sieve.
6 Indu sends forth a voice on high to regions of the sea of air, Shaking the vase that drops with meath.
7 The Tree whose praises never fail yields heavenly milk among our hymns, Urging men's generations on.
8 The Wise One, with the Sage's stream, the Soma urged to speed, flows on To the dear places of the sky.
9 O Pavamana, bring us wealth bright with a thousand splendours. Yea. O Indu, give us ready help.
1 PASSED through, the fleece in thousand streams the Soma, purified, flows on To Indra's, Viyu's special place.
2 Sing forth, ye men who long for help, to Pavamana, to the Sage, Effused to entertain the Gods.
3 The Soma-drops with thousand powers are purified for victory, Hymned to become the feast of Gods.
4 Yea, as thou flowest bring great store of food that we may win the spoil Indu, bring splendid manly might.
5 May they in flowing give us wealth in thousands, and heroic power,— These Godlike Soma-drops effused.
6 Like coursers by their drivers urged, they were poured forth, for victory, Swift through the woollen straining-cloth.
7 Noisily flow the Soma-drops, like milch-kine lowing to their calves: They have run forth from both the hands.
8 As Gladdener whom Indra loves, O Pavamana, with a roar Drive all our enemies away.
9 O Pavamamas, driving off the godless, looking on the light, Sit in the place of sacrifice.
1 REPOSING on the river's wave the Sage hath widely flowed around, Bearing the hymn which many love.
2 When the Five kindred Companies, active in duty, with the song Establish him, the Powerful,
3 Then in his juice whose strength is great, have all the Gods rejoiced themselves, When he hath clothed him in the milk.
4 Freeing himself he flows away, leaving his body's severed limbs, And meets his own Companion here.
5 He by the daughters of the priest, like a fair youth, hath been adorned, Making the milk, as ’twere, his robe.
6 O'er the fine fingers, through desire of milk, in winding course he goes, And utters voice which he hath found.
7 The nimble fingers have approached, adorning him the Lord of Strength: They grasp the vigorous Courser's back.
8 Comprising all the treasures that are in the heavens and on the earth, Come, Soma, as our faithful Friend.
1 THROUGH the fine fingers, with the song, this Hero comes with rapid ears, Going to Indra's special place.
2 In holy thought he ponders much for the great worship of the Gods. Where the Immortals have their seat.
3 Like a good horse is he led out, when on the path that shines with light The mettled steeds exert their strength.
4 He brandishes his horns on high, and whets them Bull who leads the herd, Doing with might heroic deeds.
5 He moves, a vigorous Steed, adorned with beauteous rays of shining gold, Becoming Sovran of the streams.
6 He, over places rough to pass, bringing rich treasures closely packed. Descends into the reservoirs.
7 Men beautify him in the vats, him worthy to be beautified, Him who brings forth abundant food.
8 Him, even him, the fingers ten and the seven songs make beautiful, Well-weaponed, best of gladdeners.
1 THE pressers from the Soma-press send forth thy juice for rapturous joy The speckled sap runs like a flood.
2 With strength we follow through the sieve him who brings might and wins the kine, Enrobed in water with his juice.
3 Pour on the sieve the Soma, ne’er subdued in waters, waterless, And make it pure for Indra's drink.
4 Moved by the purifier's thought, the Soma flows into the sieve: By wisdom it hath gained its home.
5 With humble homage, Indra, have the Soma-drops flowed forth to thee, Contending for the glorious prize.
6 Purified in his fleecy garb, attaining every beauty, he Stands, hero-like, amid the kine.
7 Swelling, as ’twere, to heights of heaven, the stream of the creative juice Falls lightly on the cleansing sieve.
8 Thus, Soma, purifying himwho knoweth song mid living men, Thou wanderest through the cloth of wool.
1 LIKE rivers down a steep descent, slaying the Vṛtras, full of zeal, The rapid Soma-streams have flowed.
2 The drops of Soma juice effused fall like the rain upon the earth: To Indra flow the Soma-streams.
3 With swelling wave the gladdening drink, the Soma, flows intoṭhe sieve, Loving the Gods and slaying fiends.
4 It hastens to the pitchers, poured upon the sieve it waxes strong At sacrifices through the lauds.
5 Soma, thou shinest mounting heaven as ’twere above light's triple realm, And moving secm'st to speed the Sun.
6 To him, the head of sacnfice, singers and bards have sung their songs, Offering what he loves to see.
7 The men, the sages with their hymns, eager for help, deck thee strong &teed, Deck thee for service of the Gods.
8 Flow onward to the stream of meath rest efficacious in thy home, Fair, to be drunk at sacrifice.
1 THOU, Soma, dweller on the hills, effused, hast flowed into the sieve,: All-bounteous art thou in carouse.
2 Thou art a sacred Bard, a Sage; the meath is offipring of thy sap: All-bountcous art thou in carouse.
3 All Deities of one accord have come that they may drink of thee: All-bounteous art thou in carouse.
4 He who containeth in his hands all treasures much to be desired: All-bounteous art thou in carouse.
5 Who milketh out this mighty Pair, the Earth and Heaven, like mother kine All-bounteous art thou in carouse.
6 Who in a moment mightily floweth around these two world-halvcs: All-bounteous art thou in carouse.
7 The Strong One, being purified, hath in the pitchers cried aloud: All-bounteous art thou in carouse.
1 O SOMA, being purified bring us the wondrous treasure, meet For lauds, that is in earth and heaven.
2 For ye Twain, Indra, Soma, are Lords of the light, Lords of the kine: Great Rulers, prosper ye our songs.
3 The tawny Steer, while cleansed among the living, bellowing on the grass, Hath sunk and settled in his home.
4 Over the Steer's productive flow the sacred songs were resonant, The mothers of the darling Son.
5 Hath he not, purified, impregned the kine whb long to meet their Lord, The kine who yield the shining milk?
6 Bring near us those who stand aloof strike fear into our enemies: O Pavamana, find us wealth.
7 Soma, bring down the foeman's might, his vigorous strength and vital powe'r, Whether he be afar or near.
1 FORTH through the straining-cloth the Sage flows to the banquet of the Gods, Subduing all our enemies.
2 For he, as Pavamana, sends thousandfold treasure in the shape Of cattle to the singing-men.
3 Thou graspest all things with thy mind, and purifiest thee with thoughts As such, O Soma, find us fame.
4 Pour lofty glory on us, send sure riches to our liberal lords, Bring food to those who sing thy praise.
5 As thou art cleansed, O Wondrous Steed, O Soma, thou hast entered, like A pious King, into the songs.
6 He, Soma, like a courser in the floods invincible, made clean With hands, is resting in the jars.
7 Disporting, like a liberal chief, thou goest, Soma, to the sieve, Lending the laud a Hero's strength.