ما غَرَّ مَن تَسري عَقارِبُهُ

مِن أُسدِ غيلٍ تَرقُبُ الفُرَصا

The passage of their hours does not perturb

The lions that lie waiting to pounce and curb

وَكَتيبَةٍ دَفّاءَ مِن أَسَلٍ

قَد أَلبَسوها مِن دَمٍ قُمُصا

A fervent band of heroes with ready blades

Whose shirts are dyed in blood that evil curbs

صَبرٌ لِرَيبِ زَمانِهِم صَمَتِ ال

شَكوى إِذا ما عَضَّ أَو قَرَصا

Patience for the woes of their time, and mute

When bitten or stung, no cries disturb

وَالهاجِعينَ عَلى سُروجِهِمُ

خَفَقاً يُذيقُهُمُ الكَرى نُغَصا

Returning to their saddles, throats awash

In bitterness, but no groans disturb

مُتَوَقِّدينَ مِنَ الحَديدِ إِذا

ما صَرَموا بَأسَ العِدى نَكَصا

Brandishing iron, charging the foe afresh

Should it draw back, no qualms disturb