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Despotism Tempered by Dynamite.
My children who but hold their lives with mine
For our most Holy Russia dear and great,
Whose might is concentrated in my hands—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
For our most Holy Russia dear and great,
Whose might is concentrated in my hands—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
I chain and gag with chains and gags of iron
The impious hands and mouths that dare express
A word against my sacred sovranty;
The half of Asia is my prison-house,
Myriads of convicts lost in its Immense—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
The impious hands and mouths that dare express
A word against my sacred sovranty;
The half of Asia is my prison-house,
Myriads of convicts lost in its Immense—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
I cannot chain and gag the evil thoughts
Of men and women poisoned by the West,
Frenzied in soul by the anarchic West;
These thoughts transmute themselves to dynamite;
My sire was borne all shattered to his tomb—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
Of men and women poisoned by the West,
Frenzied in soul by the anarchic West;
These thoughts transmute themselves to dynamite;
My sire was borne all shattered to his tomb—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
My peasants rise to their unvarying toil,
And go to sleep outwearied by their toil,
Without the hope of any better life.
But with no hope they have no deadly fear,
They sleep and eat their scanty food in peace—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
And go to sleep outwearied by their toil,
Without the hope of any better life.
But with no hope they have no deadly fear,
They sleep and eat their scanty food in peace—
I look with terror to my crowning day.
