From Nekrasof
Te Deum
In our village there’s cold and there’s hunger;
Through the mist the sad morn rises chill;
Tolls the bell—the parishioners calling
From afar to the church on the hill;
Austere and severe and commanding
Pealed that dull tone thro’ the air.
I spent in the church that wet morning;
I can never forget the scene there.
For there knelt the village hamlet,
Young and old in a weeping crowd;
To be saved from the grievous famine
The people prayed aloud.
Such woe I had seldom witnessed,
Such agony of prayer,
And unconsciously I murmured,
“O God, the people spare!”
“Spare their friends, too, in Thy mercy!
Oh, hear our heartfelt cry!
For those who strove to free the serf
We lift the prayer on high;
For those who bore the battle’s brunt
And lived to win the day,
For those who’ve heard the serf’s last song,
To Thee, O God, we pray.”