Atharva Veda 4.24: A hymn of prayer and praise to Indra

I think of Indra, only him for ever, fiend-slayer, May these lauds of mine come near him.
He cometh to the pious offerer's calling. May he deliver us from grief and trouble.

Who with strong arms o'ercame his strong opponents, who broke and crushed the power of the demons, Who won the rivers and the kine in battle. May he deliver us from grief and trouble.

Ruler of men, finder of light, the hero: the pressing-stones declare his valour, master.
Of sweetest sacrifice with seven Hotars. May he deliver us from grief and trouble.

The lord of barren cows and bulls and oxen, finder of light for whom the posts are planted, For whom the bright juice flows cleansed by devotion. May he deliver us from grief and trouble.

Whose favour those desire who offer Soma, whom, arrow-bearer, men invoke in battle, On whom the hymn depends, in whom is power, May he deliver us from grief and trouble.

Why was born, first, for active operation, whose valour as the first hath been awakened, Who raised his bolt when he encountered Ahi. May he deliver us from grief and trouble.

Strong Lord, who leadeth hosts to meet for battle, who sendeth riches both of earth and heaven, I, suppliant, praise and ever call on Indra. May he deliver us from grief and trouble.