1. Say to the pride of the Imams, the scholar, the knowledgeable one,
He is the well-mannered, the hoped for,

2. And the one who has no equal, is there an equal for
The rain, the sun, and the sharp sword?

3. O you who are miserly with your honor and generous
With your generosity, you are the generous and the miserly,

4. You are the one on whom the crowns
Of glory and pride and supremacy are placed,

5. And the Imam whose lights of nobility
Throughout the ages have no setting,

6. A pen in your hands, O fountain of literature,
Repelled the sword, yet it is frail,

7. Bowing, prostrating, deaf yet hearing,
Mute yet speaking, humble yet eminent,

8. On foot yet mounted, still yet mobile,
Saying yet doing, short yet tall,

9. A pen that restores health to the ailing
With what it exudes, and heals the sick,

10. It conveys tenderness with its tracings
As musk scents a soft, delicate cheek,

11. Its head is like a tooth, but its latter part
Is a sword that makes calamities polished and smooth,

12. You have no equal, and in God
None is comparable to you, the proof has stood,

13. So remain a palm for those visiting you whenever
A bird twitters and makes noise from it.