Equal to us, he opened not the vault; he, the purifier, made the new heaven; he, like the back, begat the people — Indra fashioned not a rival.

Sing along with me a new song, unceasing, surpassing heaven and earth, to him who like the pṛṣṭha(praises), born at sacrifices, overcomes his enemies, Indra who desires no friend.

To him I sing a holy prayer, incessant new, matchless, common to the earth and heaven, Who marks, as they were backs, all living creatures: ne'er doth he fail a friend, the noble Indra.