Poet, you have pierced the realm of the mighty; do not fail to invoke the prize. Bring forth the draughts, O bard, let Soma wash the clarified butter; the cow-herds surround it and bring the unfading clarified treasure.

You, who are wise, pass through the adorable (filter) with a desire to perform the sacrifice; being cleansed you rush like a horse to the cattle. Driving away misfortunes be gracious (to us), Soma; clothed in water you proceed to the cleansing (vessel).

To glory goest thou, Sage with disposing skill, like a groomed steed thou rusbest forward to the prize. O Soma, be thou gracious, driving off distress: thou goest, clothed in butter, to a robe of state.