Tarana-e-Milli

From Chin to Arab lands, our story flows, The whole wide world's the home a Muslim knows.

The sacred trust of One God fills our soul, No force can wipe our name from history's scroll.

In a world of idols, stood that House of God, The first true temple on the earth we trod. We stand as guardians for that sacred place, And He, in turn, is our protecting Grace.

Beneath the shadow of the sword we grew, The crescent's dagger is our emblem true.

Through Western valleys did our prayer-call sound, Our flowing tide could not by force be bound.

O Sky, we do not bow to what is false, A hundred times you've tested our resolve.

O Garden of Andalusia, do you recall the day, When on your branches high our nest in safety lay?

O wave of Tigris, you remember us, you know, Your river tells our story in its flow.

O Sacred Land, for you we gave our lives, Within your veins our very own blood thrives.

The Prince of Hijaz is our caravan's own guide, And in his name our very souls abide.

This song of Iqbal is the marching bell's refrain, Our caravan now travels on its path again.