। ॥ १७ ॥
In plain words
Say it happens — some merit of mine ripens, or compassion simply moves in You — and You turn toward me, gracious at last, O Lord who fills everything, O my Master. Even then, how do I get a look at those two spotless lotus feet? The gods are lined up ahead of me, shoving forward in their eagerness to bow, and their crowns of gold and ruby shut the sight away.
Close to the Sanskrit
Whether from the fruit of merits, or by compassion toward me — even when You, O all-pervading one, O Master, have become gracious, how could I see the pair of Your spotless lotus feet? The row of gods, given over to the flurry of prostration, screens me off with their own crowns of gold and ruby.