(Lyrics by hieromonk Roman)
There’s no place for me in Russia,
Though I’m not the first exile ;
Since old times some other land
Gave shelter to my folk.
My Motherland, like Mother, you are my only,
That’s why I don’t demand,
For the freedom you give to your sons,
The freedom to go up the scaffolds.
Crucified! Is that you, my Land?
I’m standing and wondering:
In the flags I recognize the shreds
Of Jesus Christ’s purple garments.
My Land! Are you heading the right way?
The dirty fingers are poking at the earthly things
And you are rushing to bow to them,
Calling for Jesus Christ’s traitors to be your leaders.
Why, turning your face away from Heaven,
D’ you hanker for the western sparkles?
And casting your own clothes off,
Why do you dress up in Lilliputian shreds?
Amusing mobs of good-for-nothing guys,
You choose another way to go,
A stranger path is not yours,
It can’t imbibe your aspirations.
Many would like to stand still
As guards of honor at your coffin,
Bearing malice, not knowing, blind,
They have infringed on God’s possessions.
Russia! Rus’! Wherever you were flying,
In rags, profaned and wretched,
You won’t perish! You’re safe!
With so many pious people in the God’s abodes.
Translated by Eaja Borkovskaja.