شعب واحد ورب واحد — Mahmoud Ghoneim

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God is greatest! A people whose poet rose

to sing, and the birds of the grove listened.

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The Arab people—may God preserve their unity!

The stars can be counted, but their glories cannot.

When history writes down their story,

their feelings stir at the splendor of its remembrance.

If their past was crowded with glories,

their present has not forsaken glory.

Like a vine whose fruit tastes sweet in the picker’s hand,

its sweetness grows in the wine jar under the press.

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Arab glory depends on Arab unity;

division begins in weakness, and ends there too.

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A people can scarcely rise after a fall

unless all its parts unite as one heart.

A people’s unity is its strongest reserve

on the decisive day, when its reserves are counted.

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It is the weapon in its right hand when

its cannon fire dies or its sharp sword is blunted.

How many a people, scattered and divided,

has had its claws clipped by its own weakness!

It has never truly lived, however long its years;

its homes are graves that shelter it.

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It may be forgiven for living in an occupied homeland

if it stays and builds it up, even under the occupier.

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But it lives in its own home as its captor’s slave;

a child rebukes it, and a servant commands it.

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Whoever accepts life under humiliation, may no

land shelter him, nor his eyes find peace.

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A person’s own right hand brings misery or happiness,

even if his fate rests in the Lord’s hand.

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The Arabs have a religion founded on belief in one God;

both its inward spirit and outward form call to Him.

The secret of its strength lies in its unity;

on that principle its rites were established.

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For the son of radiant Amina, this miracle suffices:

by his hand, a people’s tribes were brought together.

That people had stumbled in the darkness of division

until Islam brought its estranged members together.

Its unity was completed to the sound of the Qur’an,

as though its reciter had enchanted minds.

A shadow of its awe spread over the world,

and its armies advanced into distant regions.

At mention of the Arabs, emperors took fright,

and Persian kings’ hearts beat with fear.

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A people from the desert, riding on camelback,

won the obedience of the world, nomad and settled alike.

The dry land shook beneath its horses,

and the swelling sea stirred beneath its ships.

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Rise and ask the sea, the Sea of the Romans: did

its waves marvel as the desert youth crossed it?

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Who taught the Bedouin to ride upon the water

and cut through the sea’s depths as he sailed?

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He had known water only as something poured

from clouds when rain came.

Then, when unity in faith strengthened his arm,

he walked upon the water, his grand vessels above it.

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But for Constantine’s fortresses,

the traces of his state would have vanished and its company dispersed.

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Ask Arab lands throughout their many regions

about their earliest glory: has what faded returned?

I glimpse a radiance on their horizons;

signs of the dawn of their revival have appeared.

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If my guess is right, victory is near

for their people. Why not, when God is their helper?

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A people has cast off its chains and gone forward,

dragging behind it the hem of humiliation’s robe—its former captor.

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In Egypt, a people defended its land

on the day of the Canal, breaking the wolves.

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In Algeria, a people launched a struggle

against injustice, fought by its free women.

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And in Syria, harmony persists;

despite upheavals, its bonds have not broken.

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Across the Tigris, a people began its great

uprising, and its rebels rose against tyranny.

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Around Sana’a, an army whose leader shattered

a throne whose ruler traded in religion’s name.

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This is Arab identity, watched over by God’s eye

for as long as the heavens keep turning.

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Children of Ya‘rub, this day is yours:

a bright day, fair-faced and radiant.

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The age of chains and shackles has passed;

its dark days are gone and its gloom has cleared.

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By God, let not the celebrations of your victory make you forget

a stubborn foe and the peoples who support him.

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Near your borders, my people,

is a fierce, treacherous foe; beware of him.

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How can we trust him when poison fills his mouth,

and he advances only with it wide open?

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How can we trust a people who keep no promises?

I can already see the first signs of their plots.

The one who kindles the fire of enmity will burn in it;

the one who digs the pit will fall into its depths.

Cleanse your hearts of every stain;

life is clear for those whose hearts are clear.

Do not recall the mistakes and sins of the past;

whatever wrong was done, God forgives it.

Sins are forgotten where kinship holds, however great;

to a loving person, even grave faults seem small.

When brothers quarrel, brotherhood

draws its curtains over the dispute.

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If your ranks come together, iron will soften for you

as hard iron softens for the smelter.

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If you seek glory, the launched rocket,

unity of ranks, and consultation are its sources.

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I seem to see history drawing out

its pen, its notebooks in its right hand.

Just as you have studied your ancient history,

tomorrow your own history will be recited in lectures.

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Gamal, complete the unity of the Arabic-speaking people;

it is a seed, and you are its sower.

No foe of the Arabs, however mighty,

will escape your defeat of him with God’s help.

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Your people sleep in safety and ease

while you alone stay awake all night to guard them.

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I swear, the pyramids are no longer the Nile’s pride;

the Nile’s pride is its Nasser.

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You are the sword of Arab identity, the sword of God;

a sword wielded by the Lord of the Throne will never be blunted!