O’er the sand-ocean sailing!

Wake the flute and the drum!

The Prophet, the Prophet is come!

Anitra.

His courser is white as the milk is

That streams in the rivers of Paradise.

Bend every knee! Bow every head!

His eyes are as bright-gleaming, mild-beaming stars.

Yet none earth-born endureth

The rays of those stars in their blinding splendour!