They’re coming to you now, my Lord
Believers everywhere,
Responding to Ibrahim’s call
That once rang in 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 through 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 so far can only hope
The goodness of those slaves
Will send us strength to grasp the rope
That lifts us from our graves
To gather us behind RasulAllah
In countless rows
It is a high we long to find
Upon this day of lows.
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