O thou, whose mantle is the covering that guards our honour, whose effulgence our candle’s capital;

Whose nature pure to us a mercy, our religion’s strength, foundation of our true community!

Our children’s lips, being suckled at thy breast, from thee first learn to lisp No god but God.

Thy love it is, that shapes our little ways, thy love that moulds our thoughts, our words, our deeds.

Our lightning-flash, that slumbered in thy cloud, glitters upon the mountain, sweeps the plain.

O guardian of the blessings of God’s Law, thou from whose breath the Faith of God draws fire;

Coxcomb and crafty is the present age, its caravan a highwayman, well armed to seize and spoil Faith’s riches;

Blind its brain, that knoweth naught of God; ignoble they who are the captives of its twisted chains;

Bold is its eye, and reckless; swift to snatch, the talons of its lashes;

Its poor prey calls itself free, its victim vaunts it lives! Thine is the hand that keepeth fresh and green.

The young tree of our Commonwealth, as thou guardest inviolate the capital of our Community.

Fret not thyself to calculate the profit and the loss, being content to tread the well-worn path our fathers went before.

Be wary of Time’s depredations, and to thy broad breast gather thy children close;

These meadow-chicks, unfledged as yet to fly, have fallen far from their warm nest.

High, high the cravings are that wrestle with thy soul; be conscious still and ever of thy model, Fatima;

So that thy branch may bear a new Husain, our garden blossom with the Golden Age.