تقطيع قصيدة يا عروس المجد

“O bride of glory, be lost and drag along our tails in our songs. You will not see a handful of sand scented with the blood of a brave fire, the stair of injustice to it an era and a fall without reaching the dusk of the Arabian. Night’s severity did not fall without it, till the fangs of the claw are softened. The truth never dies no matter how much the oppressors hit it. How many burdens have dust removed from its wings? Our swords grow in the playground, and our courage is suppressed in the playground. From a stumbling stumbling struggle to a stumbling stumbling struggle, the honor of the leap is to satisfy the heights, the jumper overcame or did not overcome. Our land will not flourish with the help of guardians. O Jerusalem, O adorned with brilliance, O vision of Jesus on the eyelid of the Prophet. Without your banners in the vast distance, the neighing of horses and the sparkle of spears. The pains embraced us and settled among us. So when Egypt sings, and when Baghdad whispers to Medina, the union was blessed, as many tribes angered by his arrow fled.”