Souls who chant the ecstasies of love In a darkened room lit by candlelight Recall the harmonies of childhood days When we as family in the cold fortnight
Of Christmas sang the great composers' hymns, Tchesnokov, Rachmaninoff, and more. My aunts and uncles from the snow-clad street Came chanting through the ornamented door.
And there were wondrous feasts, the table filled With delicacies prepared by mother's hand. Before we ate the songs of praise were sung In a language I could hardly understand.
Always an extra place was set for one Who homeless and alone they would invite To dine with us and warm the soul awhile Protected from the windswept frozen night.
Now in a land that neither snow nor ice Has seen in the furnace of its heat-haze hours, Where the cobalt sea is languorous and warm We sing another song to heavenly powers, The prayer of OM sung from the inmost heart For transformation of this world of woe, That truth to be the touchstone of our lives And point us to the light towards which we go.
Poems Undated (1727)
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