Shri Hari Stotram

Protector of the world's web, a garland swaying at his throat, his brow like the autumn moon, death to the great demons; his body blue as the sky, his māyā irresistible, the lovely Lakshmi at his side — him I worship, him I worship.

Ever dwelling in the ocean of milk, his smile like an opening blossom, the abode of the universe, radiant as a hundred suns; armed with mace and discus, his yellow robe gleaming, his lovely face alight with laughter — him I worship, him I worship.

The necklace at Ramā's throat, the essence of all the Vedas, sporting within the waters, remover of Earth's burden; consciousness-bliss itself, of captivating form, assuming forms beyond number — him I worship, him I worship.

Free of birth and age, brimming with supreme bliss, absorbed in perfect stillness, ever the same yet never old; the cause of the world's birth, the banner of the celestial hosts, the one bridge across the three worlds — him I worship, him I worship.

Hymned by the Vedas, riding the king of birds, the fount of liberation, humbler of his foes' pride; gracious to his devotees, the root of the world-tree, who plucks out the dart of the afflicted — him I worship, him I worship.

Lord of all the immortals, his locks dark as bees, this mirrored world but a fragment of him, dwelling in the sky of the heart; his body ever divine, free of all craving, beautiful Vaikuṇṭha his home — him I worship, him I worship.

Mightiest among the hosts of gods, most eminent in the three worlds, weightiest of teachers, established solely in his own nature; ever steadfast in battle, hero of the greatest heroes, the far shore of the great ocean — him I worship, him I worship.

Ramā at his left side, the serpent Śeṣa beneath him, the sacrifices subject to him, beyond passion and aversion; sweetly sung by the best of sages, surrounded by the gods, transcending all the floods of guṇas — him I worship, him I worship.

Whoever, with mind composed, daily recites this octet — a garland for Murāri's throat — surely goes to Viṣṇu's sorrowless realm, and never again knows old age, birth or grief.