Before the tomb of the saint
I stand with bowed head ...
Everything sleeps around; some lamps
In the darkness of Temple of the Golden
Pillars of granite masses
And their banners hanging series.
Underneath this sleeping lord,
This idol northern squads,
The venerable guardian of the country's sovereign.
Smiritel all its enemies,
The rest of this glorious flock
In your coffin delight lives!
He is the voice of the Russian issues we;
He keeps telling us about that Godin,
When the voice of the people's faith
He appealed to the holy of your gray hair:
"Go, saved!"You stood up - and saved ...
Well this day, and give ear to our true voice,
Stand up and saves the king and us,
ABOUT, elder formidable! for a moment
It appears at the door of the coffin,
Yavys, breathe enthusiasm and zeal
Shelves, left you!
Appear and the palms of his
We specify in the crowd of leaders,
Who's your heir, your elected!
But the temple - immersed in the silence,
And your quiet graves abusive
imperturbable, last sleep…