تَرَى جَوهَر المَوتِ في سَيفِهِ

تَرَى جَوهَر المَوتِ في سَيفِهِ

وَلِلنَّصر في سَيفِهِ جَوهَرُ

وَلِلنَّصر في سَيفِهِ جَوهَرُ

You behold death’s very essence in his sword,

You see the essence of death in his sword,

and in his sword victory, too, has an essence.

And victory has an essence in his sword.

فَسَفكُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَورِدٌ

فَسَفكُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَورِدٌ

وحَقنُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَصدَرُ

وحَقنُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَصدَرُ

For your sword, blood is a watering place,

So shedding blood is his place of arrival,

and the sparing of blood is its homeward course.

And sparing blood his place of departure.

وَقَد يضفرَقُ السِّيفُ مِن كَفِّهِ

وَقَد يضفرَقُ السِّيفُ مِن كَفِّهِ

وَيَفرَقُ مِن رَأسِهِ المِغفَرُ

وَيَفرَقُ مِن رَأسِهِ المِغفَرُ

Even the sword may quail before his hand,

And the sword may take fright at his palm,

and the helmet quails before his head.

And the mail hood takes fright at his head.