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 callingFrom afar to the church on the hill;Austere and severe and commandingPealed 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 famineThe 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 serfWe lift the prayer on high;For those who bore the battle’s bruntAnd lived to win the day,For those who’ve heard the serf’s last song,To Thee, O God, we pray.”
In our village there’s cold and there’s hunger;Through the mist the sad morn rises chill;Tolls the bell—the parishioners callingFrom afar to the church on the hill;Austere and severe and commandingPealed 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 famineThe 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 serfWe lift the prayer on high;For those who bore the battle’s bruntAnd lived to win the day,For those who’ve heard the serf’s last song,To Thee, O God, we pray.”
In our village there’s cold and there’s hunger;Through the mist the sad morn rises chill;Tolls the bell—the parishioners callingFrom afar to the church on the hill;Austere and severe and commandingPealed 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 famineThe people prayed aloud.Such woe I had seldom witnessed,Such agony of prayer,And unconsciously I murmured,“O God, the people spare!”
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 serfWe lift the prayer on high;For those who bore the battle’s bruntAnd lived to win the day,For those who’ve heard the serf’s last song,To Thee, O God, we pray.”
“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.”