Calming the Storm. Протоиерей Олег ШтельманЧитать онлайн книгу.

      The military uniform with aglets,

      Honour rewards – the orders that he wears.

      Of him they sang the hymns, cantonic outlets —

      The times of gold those were, I must confess.

      Yet, in a moment, like tornado, in a crowd of people,

      A proud ardour of the mind has played it’s role,

      And holy son, just like a rootless slave is weeping,

      Got drunk with sin and mind has lost it’s call.

      The oath upon allegiance is trampled down

      Slyness, cowardice, and deceit

      Have brought the death, destruction, poverty all around

      Enveloped in the lying charm inside.

      A buzzing crowd threatens strictly with a fist,

      With dream insane their eyes did shine,

      They wish to live without God, no least,

      And without Sovereign King they want to strive.

      The speakers hover above crowds,

      With playful lies the souls they beckon:

      “We walk so free, we are allowed!” —

      With words of fables they reckon.

      “It is an end, you holy” – enemy rejoices through fire,

      In the alarm it shouts: “I captured you all!

      The Tsar, a heart of Russia entire,

      Will die… and all his people then shall fall!”

      And someone’s hand, so ruthless and so cheeky,

      With iron muscle upon death it stood,

      Wishing for blood to see, in final clicking,

      The thirst has been fulfilled to see more blood.

      And Tsar has asked: “Have no revenge, my friends.

      I seek my only merits before God instead

      I’ll finish deadly bowl to a bottom’s end —

      A crown I shall wear upon head!”

      He prayed for them, eyes full of tears:

      “Forgive them all, they are deceived,

      Lured by sweet speeches in their ears,

      May their leaders be forgiven”.

      Monarch has loved it’s people and the Mother Russia,

      With much more passion than he loved himself

      For them he prayed to Christ, asking Messiah,

      With love, he drank the bitterness of sufferings he had to dwell.

      He knew the Scriptures, knew the words of Christ so well:

      As soon as seed will reach the soil at feet,

      Then it will die just to arise from soil again,

      As much more grains will grow out of it.[4]

      The Russian field will spire from then on,

      According to the kind of given seed,

      And just like sea it will roam strong,

      With flocks of gold, without chaff in it.

      Without chafes, it still cannot be there,

      As Christ has told in Parable of seeds in words alone,

      A field left alone in immutable care,

      For time of harvest before Judgment will be done.[5]

      A century has passed already and the field marvels on,

      The domes of temples in their glory,

      The people with the Walk of Cross move on,

      And to the Russian Tsarthey give their glory,

      A portrait for an icon they are changing,

      Singing the prayers of a beauty pure and strong,

      All by the holy prophecy’s foretelling,

      His family is gently glorified along!

      And faithful ones who followed the King —

      For death and truth who always stood their wages,

      Have fallen towards ground with gift unseen,

      By shining with immortal light through ages.

      A lengthy path of victory achieved,

      It seems it should be like a dawn rising high,

      Just like a banner for all people that have ever lived,

      The truth that’s one for all, for you and I.

      Yet, there are strange things we can see:

      The portraits of the ones who took the lives before

      Are hanging honoured right where the people sit,

      And in the rooms of government and then at every door.

      And in every town and every place,

      A great genius and a villain can be met,

      Watching from monuments always,

      Calling to Mausoleum with his cap hung from head.

      A lesson from the history has not been learned,

      Yet, still the dawn comes so soft and tender,

      A time will come, God’s name they’ll carry on,

      And Russian Tsar will be remembered.

      Without chafes, it still cannot be there,

      As Christ has told in Parable of seeds in words alone,

      A field left alone in immutable care,

      For time of harvest before Judgment will be done.[6]