وَأَغَنَّ أَبدى مِن مَواجِبِ عودِهِ

نَغَماً أَصَحَّ بِهِ القُلوبَ وَأَمرَضا

And he sang eternally from the heights of his lute

A melody that healed hearts and made them sick

بِيَدٍ إِذا سَخِطَت عَلى أَوتارِهِ

نالَ الرِفاقُ بِسُخطِها عَينَ الرِضى

With a hand, when angry at its strings

His companions attained through its anger the spring of contentment