أَبَرَّ عَلى الأَنواءِ فَضلي وَنائِلي

وَطالَ عَلى الجَوزاءِ قَدري وَمُحتَدي

My grace and attainments surpass the blowing winds

And my fate and ambition exceed the bright stars

يَدي أَلِفَت بَذلَ النَوالِ فَلو نَبَت

عَنِ الجودِ يَوماً قُلتُ ما هَذِهِ يَدي

My hand grew accustomed to freely giving

If it ceased being generous one day, I would say "This is not my hand"