Muhammad Iqbal HOME

"The Struggle of the Soul"

The morning breeze, the dawn's delightful air,
Have vanished like the grace that decks the fair;
The verdure of the meads has hidden been,
The roses' laughter and the lily's sheen.

What though my heart's blood dyes the tulip's red?
What though I shed it on the jasmine's bed?
Yet, O heart, find solace in thy pain,
That longs to prove the spirit's might again.

See how the stars, those heavenly sentinels,
Are watching o'er my path like guardian spells;
Behold the dawning of the age of light,
When every darkness shall be put to flight.

How long wilt thou, O heart, in slumber lie,
While deeds that make or mar are passing by?
Arise and play thy part, ere death's cold blast
Shall snatch the breath that holds thy fate so fast.

Let not the devil lead thee by the nose,
But seek the truth where'er its fountain flows;
Drink deep of knowledge, till thy thirsty soul
Shall find the spring that makes the spirit whole.

Thus let thyself, O soul, be glorified,
And let thy purpose in thy works abide;
Let truth and justice be thy battle-cry,
And love thy gospel, till thou reach the sky.