ما كانَ أَحوَجَ سورِيّا إِلى بَطَلٍ

يَرُدُّ بِالسَيفِ عَنها كُلَّ مُفتَرِسِ

How great was Syria's need for a hero,

To repel with the sword every ravenous predator,

وَلا يَزالُ بِها وَالسَيفُ في يَدِهِ

حَتّى يُطَهِّرُها مِن كُلِّ ذي دَنِسِ

Who remains standing within her, weapon in hand,

Until he purges her of every defiled intruder,

وَيَجعَلُ الحُبَّ دينَ القانِطينَ بِها

دينٌ يُقَرِّبُ بَينَ البَيتِ وَالقُدُسِ

And makes love the faith of her despairing souls,

A faith that unites the Sacred House and Jerusalem,

حَتّى أَرى ضارِبَ الناقوسِ يُطرِبُهُ

صَوتُ الأُذَينِ وَهَذا رَنَّةُ الجَرَسِ

Until I see the ringer of the church bell enchanted by

The voice of the call to prayer, and the caller by the peal of the bell.