In one cottage only
Shines a lamplight, where
A sick old hoary-head
Groans in soul-despair.
Death is near,--and of her
Grandchildren thinks she,
Smitten sore the orphans
Harvest time will be.
Ah the poor, poor children!
Now so young for strife,
All untried and helpless
In the woe of life!
Among stranger people
Older they will grow--
Evil hearts will lure them
Evil ways to go.
With disgrace too early
They will make a bond,
Shamed and God forsaken
Sink unto the ground.
Dear God, thyself take them,
Thy forsaken poor--
Staff and light be to them
Thyself evermore!
And the sacred lamplight
Calm and silent strays;
On the holy pictures
Fall its trembling rays;
O'er the aged features,
O'er the dying form,
O'er the two small children
On the stove bench warm.
Sudden, through the stillness
Rings a merry cry--
And his jingling troika
Drives a reveller by!
Dies in silent distance
Sleighbell clangor strong,
And the careless, merry,
Sorrow-troubling song.
NIKITIN.
THE BIRCH TREE
From bald and sun-parched earth it rises,
One lonely birch, high towering--
Upon its withered crown wide spreading,
Green leafage never more will sing.
Up to the rim of the horizon
Where veiling mists all soft enclose,
Runneth the blossoming of flowers,
The Steppe's green ocean waving flows.
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