Oh you, solace for us, the downtrodden,

Deliver the community from fear of death.

You destroyed Lat and Manat of old,

And revived the timeworn world.

Meditation and remembrance of man and jinn,

You are the morning, prayer of Azan.

Burning and ecstasy is from la-llah.

We made no god from quadruped,

Nor bowed low before the hermit,

Nor bend the knee before ancient gods,

Nor circumambulated round palaces of kings.

This, too, among your countless favors,

Our thought is the product of your teachings.

You remembrance the wealth of joy and ardor,

Which keeps the millet proud in poverty.

Goal and destination of every wayfarer,

Your desire is in the heart of each traveler.

Our harp, alas, has become so mute,

Plectrum is a burden upon its strings.

– Allama Iqbal