SONGS OF RUSSIA
Resound with indignation’s sacred fire,
And ring with teardrops heartfelt and sincere.
Not unto me such power of speech is given;
My voice is weak to plead the cause of truth.
My soul indeed is ready for the strife,
But in me fails the energy of youth.
Within my breast is but a barren sob,
Upon my lips, reproach that cannot save,
And in my heart the sad acknowledgment
That I am not a prophet, but a slave.
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