What heathen mons of churning breath,
in ferity spurn who, writhing death;
can’st in retort to such howls of they,
serve madness to those mad astray.
Fore these thunderous furies ground
to desperate fools such luring sounds,
beware the gods of men less meant
Sierra! the gods of dreams misspent.
Of life who bears the burden, who
of liberty sought must carry too.
By nations, dubbed who is a mother,
of freedom, dubbed a lover true.
With no home who roams the valley
gathering olives from Nablus’ fields
lights its bark to kindle her galley
which victuals for her unborn yields.
Of Gaza, its soul, is barred this dove,
to violence returns a rebellion of love,
shall birthen when our dream unknown,
she, the Ramz al Sumud our own.
Prosper shall not naught but valiance,
of valiance is naught left to swear.
I dreamt of might but dreams are dalliance
of great hearts and death they bear.
I hoped perchance but days ago
to promise thee the endless sun,
but left at side is naught such so
thus valiance is all but undone.
Your world in ruin, also your home,
helplessly suffering bitter misfortune,
bleeding Gaza must be where you roam
imagine your wailing unheard importune.
Every path that leadeth unto my lovers home,
resplendent tis with flowers, scent of flowers red,
as countless currants droop where ever I do roam,
among them sweetest faith, tis where I am thus lead.