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,

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

فَسَفكُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَورِدٌ

فَسَفكُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَورِدٌ

وحَقنُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَصدَرُ

وحَقنُ الدِّمَاءِ لَهُ مَصدَرُ

For your sword, blood is a watering place,

and the sparing of blood is its homeward course.

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 helmet quails before his head.