أَمسى نِقُولا في الضَريحِ فَلَم تَزَل

أَسَفاً بَنو النحّاسِ تندُبُ فَقدَهُ

The night has come, leaving Nicola in his tomb,

While the people of brass continually mourn his loss.

شَهمٌ لَقَد أَبكى الفَضائلَ مِثلَما

بَكَتِ القَوافي وَالصَحائِفُ بَعدَهُ

Noble he was, for he made virtues weep as

The verses and pages wept after him.

تَسقي السَحائبُ كُلَّ يَومٍ تُربهُ

وَملائِكُ الرَحمَنِ تَغشى لحدَهُ

The clouds water his grave each day,

And angels of the Merciful surround his burial place.

تُمسي إَليهِ بِالسَلامِ مؤرِّخاً

أَبَداً وَتَغدو بِالمَراحمِ عِندَهُ

You bid him peace when evening comes, chronicling

Forever your mercies for him each dawn.