يَدُ المَلِكِ العَلَوي الكَريم

عَلى العلمِ هَزَّت أَخاهُ الأَدَب

The generous lofty hand of the king

Waved to his brother literature

لِسانُ الكِنانَةِ في شُكرِها

وَما هُوَ إِلّا لِسانُ العَرَب

The tongue of flattery in its gratitude

Is nothing but the tongue of Arabs

قَضَت مِصرُ حاجَتَها يا عَلِيُّ

وَنالَت وَنالَ بَنوها الأَرَب

Egypt has fulfilled its need, O Ali

And its children gained the four A's

وَهَنَّأتُ بِالرُتَبِ العَبقَرِيِّ

وَهَنَّأتُ بِالعَبقَرِيِّ الرُتَب

I congratulate the genius with ranks

And I congratulate the ranks with the genius

عَلِيُّ لَقَد لَقَّبَتكَ البِلادُ

بِآسي الجِراحِ وَنِعمَ اللَقَب

Ali, you were titled by the countries

The healer of wounds, what a good title

سِلاحُكَ مِن أَدَواتِ الحَياةِ

وَكُلُّ سِلاحٍ أَداةُ العَطَب

Your weapon is made of life's tools

And every weapon is a tool of harm

وَلَفظُكَ بِنجٌ وَلَكِنَّهُ

لَطيفُ الصَبا في جُفونِ العَصَب

Your words are benign but

Gentle as youth on the eyelids of severity

أَنامِلُ مِثلُ بَنانِ المَسيحِ

أَواسي الجِراحِ مَواحي النُدَب

Your fingers like the Messiah's figs

Healers of wounds, erasers of scars

تُعالِجُ كَفّاكَ بُؤسَ الحَياةِ

فَكَفٌّ تُداوي وَكَفٌّ تَهَب

Your palms treat the misery of life

A palm that treats and a palm that bestows

وَيَستَمسِكُ الدَمُ في راحَتَيكَ

وَفَوقَهُما لا يَقَرُّ الذَهَب

And blood clings to your palms

Above which neither settles nor rests gold

كَأَنَّكَ لِلمَوتِ مَوتٌ أُتيحَ

فَلَم يَرَ وَجهَكَ إِلّا هَرَب

It's as if you're death to death itself

Who saw your face fled