In plain words
The poet, of the servants of Araṅgaṉ: The herdswoman [Yaśōdā] saw him eat the cool, set curds, the butter and the milk all at once, grew angry and bound his arms [to the mortar]: he is our Lord, my Araṅgaṉ. Those who have become his servants call "O Nārāyaṇā!" till their tongues are scarred, bow till their bodies are scarred, praise him and rejoice; and it is my heart that praises their red feet and wishes them well.