1. To God belongs what hero of glory has challenged me,
Troubles protect me from its fangs being bared,

2. I sheathe my sword and sacrifice though not celebrating,
With it though for other than I its belt was buckled,

3. Nor do I let horses drink their fill though thirsty,
From watering places until the adulteration clears up,

4. And in my flank is a secret I do not divulge
Save to the skilled, knowing speaker of clear Arabic,

5. So before long the land will grieve for my footsteps
To high places if pretexts are tested and proven.