يا لَحظهُ السّيف أَضحى السِّحرُ جَوهَرهُ

وَالسّيفُ جَوهرهُ فيهِ لَهُ الشَّرفُ

Oh moment when the sword's magic lies in its blade

And the blade holds honor, gushing freely

قَد سالَ مِنهُ وَما الأَجفانُ تَمنَعُهُ

مِن أَن يَسيلَ وَتُبدِي العَجزَ تَعترفُ

No eyelids can stop its flow to reveal

Its might, though the lashes acknowledge their defeat

أَما لِأَجفانِهِ قَد سالَ جَوهرهُ

أَلَيسَ مِن بَعضهِ الأَهدابُ وَالوطفُ

Has not its essence streamed from the eyes?

Are not the lashes and lids part of its whole?