In plain words
The poet, to the Lord: You stand on the hill [Tirumalai], you sit in heaven [Paramapadam], you lie in the long [milky] sea. You measured the matchless earth; you kept it in your belly; as a boar you dug it up. In the age that went well [the Varāha age] you created living beings fit for good; then, when passion and dullness grew in them, you set gods over them fit for them to worship, and so protected them. Are you not the Lord, the first cause?