Rigveda 9.62

THESE rapid Soma-drops have been poured through the purifying sieve To bring us all felicities.

Dispelling manifold mishap, giving the courser's progeny, Yea, and the warrior steed, success.

Bringing prosperity to kine, they make perpetual Iḷâ flow To us for noble eulogy.

Strong, mountain-born, the stalk hath been pressed in the streams for rapturous joy: Hawk-like he settles in his home.

Fair is the God-loved juice; the plant is washed in waters, pressed by men The milch-kine sweeten it with milk.

As drivers deck a courser, so have they adorned the meath's juice for Ambrosia, for the festival.

Thou, Indu, with thy streams that drop sweet juices, which were poured for help, Hast settled in the cleansing sieve.

So flow thou onward through the fleece, for Indra flow, to be his drink, Finding thine home in vats of wood.

As giving room and freedom, as most sweet, pour butter forth and milk, O Indu, for the Angirases.

Most active and benevolent, this Pavamâna, sent to us For lofty friendship, meditates.

Queller of curses, mighty, with strong sway, this Pavamâna shall Bring treasures to the worshipper.

Pour thou upon us thousandfold possessions, both of kine and steeds, Exceeding glorious, much-desired.

Wandering far, with wise designs, the juice here present is effused, Made beautiful by living men.

For Indra flows the gladdening drink, the measurer of the region, Sage, With countless wealth and endless help.

Born on the inountain, lauded here, Indu for Indra is set down, As in her sheltering nest a bird.

Pressed by the men, as 'twere to war hath Soma Pavamâna sped, To test with might within the vats.

That he may move, they yoke him to the three-backed triple-seated car By the Seven Ṛishis' holy songs.

Drive ye that Tawny Courser, O ye pressers, on his way to war, Swift Steed who carries off the spoil.

Pouring all glories hither, he, effused and entering the jar, Stands like a hero mid the kine.

Indu, the living men milk out the juice to make the rapturous draught: Gods for the Gods milk out the meath.

Pour for the Gods into the sieve our Soma very rich in sweets, Him whom the Gods most gladly hear.

Into his stream who gladdens best these Soma juices have been poured, Lauded with songs for lofty fame.

Thou flowest to enjoy the milk, and bringest valour, being cleansed: Winning the spoil flow hitherward.

And, hymned by Jamadagnis, let all nourishment that kine supply, And general praises, flow to us.

Soma, as leader of the song flow onward with thy wondrous aids, For holy lore of every kind.

Do thou as leader of the song, stirring the waters of the sea, Flow onward, thou who movest all.

O Soma, O thou Sage, these worlds stand ready to attest thy might: For thy behoof the rivers flow.

Like showers of rain that fall from heaven thy streams perpetually flow To the bright fleece spread under them.

For potent Indra purify Indu effectual and strong, Enjoyment-giver, Mighty Lord.

Soma, true, Pavamâna, Sage, is seated in the cleansing sieve, Giving his praiser hero strength.