This mind, sanctified by the hymns, with the fervour of gods in the loins—may we conquer in faces the bolt-bearers.

Śakra, let us go, proved in deeds, to deeds; thunderer, cleaver of mountains, let us conquer in battlesby your steeds.

Who, finder-out of treasures open and concealed, bringeth them hither, Holy One; Whose waves, as in a cataract, are hard to pass, when he, through song, would win him strength.