They’re coming to you now, my Lord
Responding to Ibrahim’s call
That once did pierce the air;
They’ve spent their wealth and shed the threads
That set themselves apart,
And donned the simple shroud that suits
A true believing heart,
They’ll watch their actions in these days,
To hurt no gnat or fly,
And let the dirt without erase
The dirt within must die.
And tears, Lord, the tears flow
Like rivers on a land
That’s parched and thirsting for a show
Of Mercy that is grand.
So take them all on Arafah
And let upon them rains
Of love to wash their sins away
Till none of sins remains.
And we afar, can only hope
The goodness of those slaves
Will bring us strength to grasp the rope
That lifts us from our graves
And huddles us in throngs behind
The man you hold so close:
It is a high we long to find
Upon a day of lows.