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Both heights and lowlands we traversed to spread Your message; O glad pain!
Not even once, You know well, we strove against the world in vain.
Not only land we bore Your Word glorious across the heaving seas,
Upon our steed of zeal, we rode unto their darkest boundaries!
We who removed from this world’s book the leaves which were with falsehood stained,
We who, from tyrant ignorance, The prisoned human race unchained,
We who with myriad sajdas filled Your Holy Kaaba’s hallowed shrine,
Whose bosoms reverently held Your great and glorious Book Divine—
If our meed still the obloquy that we have shirked the Faithful’s part,
How then canst You make claim to be the kindly faith-compelling heart?
For there are those of other faiths Among whom many sinners ,
Some humble, others puffed with pride, Drunken in their effrontery;
If some have vision, thousands are of little worth, neglectful, worse;
And millions upon millions live from Your dear, glorious name averse.
Yet see how still Your bounties rain on roofs 0f unbelieving clans,
While strikes Your thunder-bolt the homes of all-forbearing Mussalmans!
In idol-houses, hark! they say, “Behold, the Muslim star sinks low!
How glad they are that now at last Your Kaaba’s  brave protectors go!
They say, “The world is well rid now of hymn-reciting camel-men,
Their Quran folded in their arms, At last they hie them from our ken!
Thus they rejoice who own You not; Yet still unmindful seemest You
Of Yours own One-ness, Your Tawhid—Are You so unregarding now?
That ignorant men who lack the grace to ope their lips in conclave high
Should have their coffers treasure-filled, is not the burden of our sigh;
But O, that this world’s best should fall to unbelievers from Your hand
While we on promises are fed of pleasures in a shadowy land!
Where are those favours which You once upon our grateful hearts didst pour ?
Why cherishest You not, O Lord, The Faithful as in days of yore?
Why from the bounties of this life The Faithful now no profit gain
Though still Almighty You remainest and limitless Your means remain?
If You but will, fountains can flow from barren desert and parched sands,
And mirage-bound a traveller be while walking through green forest lands:
Yet foe-men-taunted, grace-deprived, and poorest of the poor are we!
Is this Your recompense to those who sacrifice their lives for You?
Your  world, how eagerly, today on strangers, all its grace bestows:
For those who walk Your chosen way a world of dreams its glamour throws!
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