In plain words
They are forms of the Paramātma. With this feeling, whatever he did, whatever he saw, whatever he said, whatever he thought, he ceaselessly held it to be worship of God. The one who made his life worthwhile by such worship was Emperor Pṛthu.
The one who made his life worthwhile by salutation alone was Akrūra. Salutation does not mean merely joining the two hands. It means joining the five organs of action and the five organs of knowledge and offering the ten senses to the Paramātma. In sum, he believed this very thing to be Śaraṇāgati. As the faith is, so is its fruit. So this Akrūra could see the form of Kṛṣṇa everywhere.
Servitude. For this, Hanumān. He used to pass his time ceaselessly in thought of Rāma, with humility and obedience. He was no ordinary being. He had grasped the sixty-four branches of learning in every way, with their meaning. He was a great master of the Paiśācika lore. He was a great master of the lores of Gajakarṇa and Gokarṇa. Hanumān was the first of all to write down, in the Paiśācika language, the Gītā that Kṛṣṇa was speaking. This Hanumān was the great soul who wrote the Gītā even before Vyāsa. That is why Rāma kept giving him titles. He said, ‘Hanumān, the serene, the virtuous, the strong.’ Whatever object he touched, he would test whether the Name of Rāma was in that object or not. Everything without the Name of Rāma he counted equal to stones. At the time of building the bridge to Laṅkā, when they lifted the stones and threw them in saying ‘Rāmā’, it floated. Because he was a man of great virtue, he did not write ‘Rāmā’ on each stone. He went on writing ‘Rā’ on one stone and ‘ma’ on a second stone. When they threw these two stones in, the two stones kept drawing closer and closer together. In this way the bridge was made. Every hair on his body kept thinking of the Name of Rāma alone. In times of trouble we give God no thought of any kind. In times of happiness too, we keep forgetting God. This Hanumān was a man of great strength, who held to equanimity in times of happiness and of sorrow, in both alike. He was a man of virtue, free of Ahaṅkāra. He was a great soul who had given up all sense of ‘mine’. As he moved about Laṅkā at will, the demons asked, ‘Who are you, sir?’ Dāsohaṃ kosalendrasya: even at such a time of danger he declared, ‘I am the servant of Rāmacandra.’