In plain words
The poet, to the Lord: You kept the four Vedas in mind [through each deluge] and gave them out again; you taught the codes that explain them; you are ever united with the shoulders of the Lady born of the flower [Śrī Mahālakṣmī], O Māl, loving to your own; and you have gone to dwell with joy on the hill of Tirumāliruñcōlai, with its great dark groves and its slopes thick with bamboo, which the people of the wide and wondrous world circle in worship.