Atharvaveda 20.92

Praise, even as he is known, with song Indra the guardian of the kine, The Son of Truth, Lord of the brave.

Hither his bay steeds have been sent, red steeds are on the sacred grass. Where we in concert sing our songs.

For Indra thunder-armed the kine have yielded mingled milk and meath. What time he found them in the vault.

When I and Indra amount on high up to the bright One's place and home, We, having drunk of meath, will reach his seat whose Friends are three-times-seven.

Sing, sing ye forth your songs of praise, ye Priyamedhas, sing your songs: Yea, let young children sing their lauds: as a strong castle praise ye him.

Now loudly let the viol sound, the lute send out its voice with might, Shrill be the music of the string. To Indra is the hymn upraised.

When hither speed the dappled cows, unflinching, easy to be milked, Seize quickly, as it bursts away, the Soma juice for Indra's drink.

Indra hath drunk; Agni hath drunk all Deities have drunk their fill. Here Varuna shall have his home, to whom the floods have sung aloud as mother-kine unto their calves.

Thou, Varuna, to whom belong the Seven Streams, art a glorious God. The waters flow into thy throat as'twere a pipe with ample mouth.

He who hath made the fleet steeds spring, well-harnessed, to the worshipper, He, the swift guide, is that fair form thot loosed the horses near at hand.

Indra, the very mighty, holds his enemies in utter scorn. He, far away, and yet a child, cleft the cloud smitten by his voice.

He, yet a boy exceeding small, mounted his newly-fashioned car. He for his Mother and his Sire cooked the wild mighty buffalo.

Lord of the Home, with beauteous cheeks, ascend thy chariot wrought of gold. We will attend the heavenly One; the thousand-footed, red of hue, matchless, who blesses where he goes.

With reverence they come hitherward to him as to a sovran lord, That they may bring him near for this man's good success, to prosper and bestow his gifts.

The Priyamedhas have observed the offering of the men of old, Of ancient custom, while they strewed the sacred grass and spread their sacrificial food.

He who as sovran Lord of men moves with his chariots unrestrained, The Vritra-slayer, queller of all fighting hosts, preeminent, is praised in song.

Honour that Indra, Puruhanman! for his aid, in whose sustain- ing hand of old. The splendid bolt of thunder was deposited, as the great Sun was set in heaven.

No one by deed attains to him who works and strengthens evermore: No, not by sacrifice, to Indra praised of all, resistless, daring, bold in might;

The potent Conqueror, invincible in war, him at whose birth the mighty ones, The kine who spread afar, sent their loud voices out, heavens, earths sent their loud voices out.

O Indra, if a hundred heavens and if a hundred earths were thine No, not a thousand suns could match thee at thy birth, not both the worlds, O Thunderer.

Thou, Hero, hast performed thy hero deeds with might, yea, all with strength, O Strongest One. Maghavan, help us to a stable full of kine, O Thunderer, with wondrous aids.