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.’
