كم من يدٍ بيضاءَ في رمّك

كم من يدٍ بيضاءَ في رمّك

الأوراقَ تأسو من أديمٍ جريحْ

الأوراقَ تأسو من أديمٍ جريحْ

How many a kindly white hand in your mending

How many a white hand in your hurling

The pages—you tend their wounded hide!

The leaves grieve as if from wounded hide

فالصحف الملقاة من صنعها

فالصحف الملقاة من صنعها

كنماشرٍ من ظلماتِ الصفيح

كنماشرٍ من ظلماتِ الصفيح

So the discarded sheets, through that hand’s work,

So the pages cast off by their making

Are like one resurrected from the darkness beneath stone slabs.

As pearls from the darkness of tin

أعدتها خلقاً جديداً فما

أعدتها خلقاً جديداً فما

يفرق بين المبتلي والصّحيح

يفرق بين المبتلي والصّحيح

You restored them as a new creation, so

You prepared them a new creation, so not

No one can distinguish the damaged from the sound.

To differentiate between the afflicted and the sound

ماتت معانيها فأحييتها

ماتت معانيها فأحييتها

فأنت موسى ويداك المسيح

فأنت موسى ويداك المسيح

Their meanings died, and you brought them to life;

Their meanings died yet you revived them

So you are Moses, and your two hands are the Messiah.

You are Moses and your hands the Messiah