Metre: kavi viruttam

I. 

'His word is the Vedam; ashes white He wears; 

Rose-red is His form; His drum is the Natham;

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'His drum is the Natham; to the Four-faced,

And to Mal too, this Lord is the Lord; 

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (4)

II. 

'His eye gleams black; He is compassion's sea; 

Within He dwells, He melts the soul, 

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'Within He dwells, and to the melting soul

Tears of undying bliss gives He,

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (8)

III. 

'Th' eternal Bridegroom, He in minds devout

Abides with perfect beauty crown'd;

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'In minds devout abides, the southern Lord,

Perun-turrai's Sire; the Blissful;

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (12)

IV. 

'A dancing snake His jewel, tiger-skin His robe.

A form with ashes smeared He wears; 

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'The form He wears whence'er I see and gaze,

My soul within me faints, why this?

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (16)

V. 

'Long are His outstretch'd arms; loose flow His locks; 

Lord of the goodly Pandiyan land; 

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'Lord of the goodly Pandi land, He rules

My wandering thoughts, and shows His love;

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (20)

VI. 

'Whose glory none may know in Uttara-mangai 'bides; 

He in my heart and soul abides;

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'He in my heart abides, Whom Mal and Ayan

Could not see! How wondorous strange!

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (24)

VII. 

'White is His steed, and white His shaven head;

He wears the sleeper's mystic dress.

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'Wearing the sleeper's dress, a prancing steed

He rides, and steals away my soul, 

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (28)

VIII. 

'He wears the twining-wreath; the sandal paste

He smears; He rules and makes us His,

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'He makes us His; in lowly servants' hands,

Hark, how the lordly servants' hands,

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (32)

IX. 

'The fair One's Half, ascetic's garb He wears,

Enters our homes an alms to ask,

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'He ent'ring alms to ask, my inmost soul

In sorrow sinks; wherefore is this?

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (36)

X. 

'Cassia, the moon, the vilva flower, and wild

Phrenzies crowd thick His head, 

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE.
'The vilva flower that crowns His sacred brow

Wild phrenzy bringeth me to-day,

MOTHER!' SAITH SHE. (40)