1. You are the highest ideal, none can compare,
Praising enemies is mere words, but yours is deed,

2. In your hands flows the flood dutifully registered,
To grow, through clouds, back to its root,

3. If they mention Al-Fadl son of Yahya son of Khalid,
You made us forget Al-Fadl with your overflowing grace,

4. Many are your victorious descents without sheaths,
Many are your sublime departures without farewells,

5. God has a sword in you that polishes the echo of guidance,
When the Indian sword brightens but does not enlighten.