In plain words
The poet, to himself: All the living beings on this great earth, girdled by an ocean of tossing waters that reeks of fish, are meant only to praise the Lord of the eternal attendants [nityasūris], who wears the garland of fragrant flowering tulasi. If only all these men without knowledge would say ‘Araṅgam’, this whole hell [the world], lived in the snare of the senses, would be grown over with grass and left waste, would it not?