Rig Veda

Book 9, Hymn I. Soma Pavamana

1. In sweetest and most gladdening stream flow pure, O Soma, on thy way,
Pressed out for Indra, for his drink.

2 Fiend-queller, Friend of all men, he hath with the wood attained unto
His place, his iron-fashioned home.

3 Be thou best Vṛtra-slayer, best granter of bliss, most liberal:
Promote our wealthy princes' gifts.

4 Flow onward with thy juice unto the banquet of the Mighty Gods:
Flow hither for our strength and fame.

5 O Indu, we draw nigh to thee, with this one object day by day:
To thee alone our prayers are said

6 By means of this eternal fleece may Sūrya's Daughter purify
Thy Soma that is foaming forth.

7 Ten sister maids of slender form seize him within the press and hold
Him firmly on the final day.

8 The virgins send him forth: they blow the the skin musician-like and fuse
The triple foe-repelling meath.

9 Inviolable milch-kine round about him blend for Indra's drink,
The fresh young Soma with their milk.

10 In the wild raptures of this draught, Indra slays all the Vṛtras: he,
The Hero, pours his wealth on us.