In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Araṅgam: O cowherd who lifted the hill and guarded the herds of cattle, O you who grazed the cows, my Lord: from that day [when you made me one who sings your praise] to this, I have never forgotten your lovely radiant form, you the First Cause. When the men of Yama, cruel beyond measure, torment me and seize me by force, on that day, there, you must protect me, O you who sleep on the serpent couch in Araṅgam.