China and Arabia are ours; India is ours.
We are Muslims, the whole world is ours.
God’s unity is held in trust in our breasts.
It is not easy to erase our name and sign.
Among the temples of the world that first House of God
We are its keepers; it is our keeper.
Brought up in the shadow of the sword, we reached maturity;
The scimitar of the crescent moon is the emblem of our community.
In the valleys of the west our call to prayer resounded;
Our onward flow was never stemmed by anyone.
We, oh heaven, are not to be suppressed by falsehood!
A hundred times you have tested us.
Oh garden of Andalusia! Do you remember those days,
When our nest was in your branches?
Oh waves of the Tigris! You also recognize us;
Your river still relates our story.
Oh land of purity! We fell and died for your honour;
Our blood still courses through your veins.
The Lord of Hijaz is the leader of our community;
From this name comes the peace of our soul.
Iqbal’s song is like the bell of a caravan;
Once more our caravan measures the road.
[Translated by D.J. Matthews]