They the priests fill him in the skies with soma, they urge the ocean, the fair, for the wished-for boon. They who followed the slayer of Vṛtra stood near—subtle were the calls that carried Indra through the seasons, the bards who sang him praise.

Tha Indra whom in heaven the libations sprinkled on the sacred grass replenish, as the kindred rivers hastening to it fill the ocean; that Indra whom the Maruts, the driers up of moisture, who are unobstructed, and of undistorted forms, attended as auxiliaries at the death of Vṛtra.

Whom those that flow in heaven on sacred grass, his own assistants, nobly-natured, fill full like the sea,- Beside that Indra when he smote down Vrtra stood his helpers, straight in form, mighty, invincible.