1. Who sleeps in weariness or slumber deep,
While vigilant a son of man doth keep,

2. Guarding the dome wherein he lies asleep,
The army’s guard, his country’s flag to steep

3. In fame and glory that shall never sleep.
“Ho, there!” he cries, “Up, son of man, and see

4. My horsemen rushing in their panoply!”
“Each bit of flesh, each drop of blood of mine

5. Is flesh and blood, O son of man, of thine.
Leave me and haste amidst the lines of spears

6. Hurled at our van from the advancing years.
Pass on amidst your comrades, for I keep

7. Watch o’er this dome in God’s inviolate heap.
Guard you the moat, defend with might and main,

8. For not unsmitten shall the foe remain.
Succor the brave Sa'd! Equal his pain!

9. If he hath cast a dart, or dart sustain.
The valiant youths round this rent barricade

10. Build with their might a rampart not afraid.
Smite and pursue the insolent invader!

11. Only when beaten can he leave your border.
Help God, His faith maintain, for His the best

12. Of faiths, our Islam, refuge of th' opprest.
If o’er the globe it suffers harm or blight,

13. Mercy and hope, solace of wrong and right;
And if in gloom its splendors fade from sight,

14. Beacon of God effacing shades of night.
Gallant and true, my warriors dart away

15. To pierce the foe's advance in fierce array.
Swift flies each shaft and finds unerring way,

16. Whether to fill the eye or cleave the prey.
Once in the throat, the willing arrow speeds

17. Its furious flight where life of foeman bleeds.
Back turn the chargers panting in their flight,

18. While Allah's troops press onward to the fight.
The tribes fall back, by panic terror tossed,

19. Their fortress riven and their vain idols lost;
To what dark end venture they all their host,

20. And who shall now redeem what they have lost?
In wild confusion gods before them fall

21. Whose aid could naught avail should heaven appall.
They cry for help, but help shall nought avail,

22. What arm lift up who worship gods of frail?
Chieftain, believe, awake and comprehend,

23. ’Tis truth you scorned, till now you condescend.
Too late for ruth, when pity you impend.

24. Rise, chieftain, while your nobler thoughts ascend,
Lest error lead where anguish shall attend.

25. Your idols spurn, their service take in scorn,
Or taste the woe of battle overborne.

26. You are as they who hate the cause of light,
Twixt wrong and right still wandering in the night.