In plain words
The poet, of the Lord's grace to him: I do not stand and praise him with longing; I have done no service with my body; I have not even the knowledge that he is there. Yet so that my heart, hard as iron, would melt little by little, he has taken great Araṅgam, ringed by groves where the bees settle, as his temple. How my two eyes rejoice, seeing that sugarcane and drinking him in!