Rig Veda
kadā vaso stotraṃ haryata āva śmaśā rudhad vāḥ dīrghaṃ sutaṃ vātāpyāya
When, Vasu, wilt thou love the laud? Now let the channel bring the stream. The juice is ready to ferment.
harī yasya suyujā vivratā ver arvantānu śepā ubhā rajī na keśinā patir dan
He whose two Bay Steeds harnessed well, swerving, pursue the Bird's tail-plumes, With Rowing manes, like heaven and earth, he is the Lord with power to give.
apa yor indraḥ pāpaja ā marto na śaśramāṇo bibhīvān śubhe yad yuyuje taviṣīvān
Bereft of skill is Indra, if, like some outwearied man he fears The sinner, when the Mighty hath prepared himself for victory.
sacāyor indraś carkṛṣa āṃ upānasaḥ saparyan nadayor vivratayoḥ śūra indraḥ
Indra with these drives round, until he meets with one to worship him: Indra is Master of the pair who snort and swerve upon their way.
adhi yas tasthau keśavantā vyacasvantā na puṣṭyai vanoti śiprābhyāṃ śipriṇīvān
Borne onward by the long-maned Steeds who stretch themselves as 'twere for food, The God who wears the helm defends them with his jaws.
This verse is not included in this edition.
The Mighty sang with Lofty Ones: the Hero fashioned with his strength, Like skillful Matarisvan with his power and might,
vajraṃ yaś cakre suhanāya dasyave hirīmaśo hirīmān arutahanur adbhutaṃ na rajaḥ
The bolt, which pierced at once the vitals of the Dasyu easy to be slain, With jaw uninjured like the wondrous firmament.
ava no vṛjinā śiśīhy ṛcā vanemānṛcaḥ nābrahmā yajña ṛdhag joṣati tve
Grind off our sins: with song will we conquer the men who sing no hymns: Not easily art thou pleased with prayerless sacrifice.
ūrdhvā yat te tretinī bhūd yajñasya dhūrṣu sadman sajūr nāvaṃ svayaśasaṃ sacāyoḥ
When threefold flame burns high for thee, to rest on poles of sacrifice, Thou with the living joyest in the self-bright Ship.
śriye te pṛśnir upasecanī bhūcchriye darvir arepāḥ yayā sve pātre siñcasa ut
Thy glory was the speckled cup, thy glory was the flawless scoop. Wherewith thou pourest into thy receptacle.
śataṃ vā yad asurya prati tvā sumitra itthāstaud durmitra itthāstaut āvo yad dasyuhatye kutsaputram prāvo yad dasyuhatye kutsavatsam
As hundreds, O Immortal God, have sung to thee, so hath Sumitra, yea, Durmitra praised thee here, What time thou holpest Kutsa's son, when Dasyus fell, yea, holpest Kutsa's darling when the Dasyus died.