Hark!  What a silvery music is ringing! 
Hark!  What a careless and jubilant singing! 
See on ethereal azure waves swinging,
Now the glad lark to her South-land is winging! 
Silence, O Life full of doubting and fears,
Hushed first of all be the songs of men’s tears!

NIKITIN.

GOSSIP

Though blameless thy living
  As Anchorite’s fate,
Yet Gossip will find thee
  Or early or late.

Through keyhole he enters
  And stands at thy side,
Doors of wood nor of stone
  Against him provide.

He pulls the alarm bell
  At slightest excuse—­
And down to thy grave
  Will pursue with abuse.

Self defence nothing boots thee,
  Thy flight he will worst—­
To earth he will tread thee,
  O Gossip be cursed!

NIKITIN.

IN A PEASANT HUT

Sultry dampness—­pine chips smoking,
Off-scourings a span length,
In the corners webs of spiders,
Smut on dish and bench.

Sooty black the bare wall, crock stained,
Water—­dry hard bread;
Groanings, coughings, children’s whimper,
Wretched bitter need!

And a beggar’s death for years of
Harshest drudgery—­
Learn to put your trust in God here,
And to patient be.

NIKITIN.

WINTER NIGHT IN THE VILLAGE

O’er the church roof wanders
  Mute and calm the moon,
Blue upon the snowdrifts
  Sparkling silent down.

By the small pond dreaming,
  Stands the church a’gleam—­
With its gold cross twinkling
  As a taper’s beam.

Peaceful in the village
  Darkness reigns and sleep,
Every hut is standing
  Snowed in window deep.

Out upon the highway
  Hushed and empty all,
Now the howling watch dogs
  Even, silent fall.

After their day’s labor
  Young and old are pressed
Weak and worn, on their hard
  Narrow place of rest.

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;