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Book VII
Chapter I
I Indra
1. Praise, even as he is known, with song Indra the guardian of the kine,
The Son of Truth, Lord of the brave,
2. Hither have his bay steeds been sent, red steeds are on the sacred grass.
Where we in concert sing our songs.
3. For Indra, thunder-armed, the kine have yielded mingled milk and meath,
What time he found them in the vault.
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