لَك دار يا مَنيَتي ما بَين تِلكَ القنى

كَم مِن مَدامع جَرَت فيها وَعادَت قنى

You have a home, O Moneeta, between those hills

How many tears have flowed there, yet returned as hills

يا مَن لَهُ قَدر يَذري العَوالي القنى

لا كانَت الناس إِن كانوا لِغَيرك قَنى

O you whose fate can scatter the high hills

If people were for other than you, they would be hills