Whether outwardly the sun is roused for rulership, or the radiance speaks a verse in heaven—where the herd speaks, the poet crafts the mantra; Indra himself, when invoked, presses into the stronghold.

Whether the holy grass be cut (for the rite) that brings down blessings, whether the priest repeats (the sacred) verse in the brilliant (sacrifice), whether the stone (that expresses the Soma) sound like the priest who repeats the hymn, on all these occasions Indra rejoices.

When sacred grass is trimmed to aid the auspicious work, or the hymn makes its voice of praise sound to the sky. Where the stone rings as'twere a singer skilled in laud, --Indra in truth delights when these come near to him.