A spring flows; Gargara, like a cow, lowed around with its stirring. Pinga moved around, and with a lance Indra rose, the spirit of Brahman uplifted.

The drum utters its sound, the leathern guard twangs, the tawny bowstring leaps to and fro; let thehymn be raised to Indra.

This thing we wish. that thou mayst take thy fourth, thy sacrificial name. So art thou held to be our Lord.