I know the music of the Russian soul And the mystic substance of the Russian heart. In dim cathedrals filled with frankincense, Lit by candles flickering in the dark I chanted prayers so deeply stained with grief, These lamentations that would move the dead In mortal plaints surpassing loveliness Whose voices could support the cosmos' weight.
I have seen the courage and the strength of will That survived invading hordes and will survive Religion and the dogmas of the church. For Russia's land is the Motherland. Already her children have heard the inner call Of India and sailed to those vast shores, To seek the occult wisdom at her core And harmony that draws all beings near.
What the world needs and desperately seeks Is living here though hidden in the folds Of modern dress that imitates the West. But those who search the signal fires within The seeds of the future find abundant here. As the child of dawn is born from darkest night The sun of transformation sheds its light That earth might bloom in consecrated soil.
Poems Undated (1727)
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