śrīhanumatstavaḥ (kandarpakoṭi lāvaṇyaṃ)

Seven verses of meditation, opening on a beauty rather than a strength: the loveliness of a crore of Kamas, learned in every branch of knowledge, like the newly risen sun, generous in the valour of his arms, the joy of Rama's heart and a wish-tree to devotees, one hand giving fearlessness and one giving boons. The fourth verse turns and makes him terrible without altering the tone — the brilliance of ten thousand young suns, shaking the three worlds, worshipped with folded hands by Sugriva and the whole company of monkeys, frightening the demon hosts by his roar alone. The fifth is the one people remember, and it is three compounds and nothing besides: he made a morsel of the sun, a cow's hoofprint of the ocean, and a blade of grass of the ten-necked one. It ends asking not for victory but for a clear mind and good speech.