Allama Iqbal

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 carvings are

That wrestle with thy soul; be conscious still

And ever of thy model, Fatimah,

So that thy branch may bear a new Hussein,

Our garden blossom with the Golden Age.’