Go ye a pilgrim to Baghdad and look
At the world marching to bury a world
He, the tongue of wisdom in speech and book
Was shot and to the grave of time was hurled
Rustum, the mason of the Arab land
Was carving the pillar of liberty
From the firm Arabia granite by hand
A sign of valor, love and unity.
Feisal the great kind knew he was the brain
The vision of hope to rebuild the empire
Like him rarely a man to live again
A man with a heart of prudence and fire.
Truly the empire he planned in his mind
From the Atlantic to the Gulf to be
For the generations to come behind
A huge bastion of might and chivalry.
At the grave they bid him farewell today
And the drumfire ser the heaven to flame
He isn’t dead, he’s walking the years, they say
With the greatest name of glory and fame.