Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TROPARIAN, by ALEXEY (ALEKSEY) KONSTANTINOVICH TOLSTOY Poet's Biography First Line: What joy does earthly life possess Last Line: Receive him in thy blessed land. Alternate Author Name(s): Prutkov, Koz'ma Petrovich | ||||||||
WHAT joy does earthly life possess That hath no part in earthly sorrow? What joy that proves not false to-morrow? Where among men is happiness? Of all that we through toil obtain Nothing is lasting, all is vain -- What glories on the earth are sure And steadfast and unchanged endure? All is but shadow, dream, and sand, And like a whirlwind blows away, And face to face with Death we stand Unarmed in helpless disarray. The right-hand of the mighty one Is nothing, naught the king's command -- Lord, now Thy servant's life is done, Receive him in Thy blessed land. Death like a warrior hot with pride Waylaid, and like a robber felled me, The grave its jaws hath opened wide, From all that liveth hath withheld me. Be saved, my children and my kin, From the grave hear my warning knell, Brothers and friends, be saved from sin So you escape the flames of hell. Life is but vanity throughout And, at the scent of death's decay, Like unto flowers we fade away -- Why do we vainly toss about? The grave is what was once a throne, Our palaces a heap of sand -- Lord, now Thy servant's life is done, Receive him in Thy blessed land. Who midst the bones in rotting heap Is warrior, judge, or king, or slave? Who shall be numbered with the sheep, Who the rejected evil knave? Where is the silver and the gold, O Brothers, where the hosts of slaves? And who among the nameless graves The rich and poor beneath the mould? All is but smoke and dust and ash, A dream, a shade, a phantom flash -- Lord, but in Thy bright Paradise Our refuge and salvation lies. All that was flesh beneath the sun Shall rot, our pomps shall rot in sand -- Lord, now Thy servant's life is done, Receive him in Thy blessed land. And Thou who for the world dost weep, Thou, Advocate of the oppressed, We cry to Thee, the Holiest, For him, our brother here asleep. Pray to Thy God-begotten Son, Pray, O most pure of womankind, That now our brother's life is done He leave his sorrow here behind. All is but smoke, and dust, and wraith, O friends, in phantoms put no faith! When we upon some sudden day Shall scent the breath of death's decay, We shall be stricken every one, Like corn beneath the reaper's hand -- Lord, now Thy servant's life is done, Receive him in Thy blessed land. I travel on a road unknown, Half hopeful, half in fear I go. My sight is dim, my heart a stone, My lids are sealed, my hearing slow, And motionless, bereft of speech, I cannot hear the brethren wail. And out of sight and out of reach The censer's blue and fragrant veil; But till in endless sleep I fall, My love shall never pass away, And by that love I, brethren, pray That each thus unto God shall call: Lord, on that day when moon and sun Shall vanish at the trump's command -- Now that Thy servant's life is done, Receive him in thy blessed land. | Other Poems of Interest...THE KING'S THRESHOLD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE EXPOSED NEST by ROBERT FROST ULTIMA THULE: NIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNET: 94 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE MY LIFE by HENRY DAVID THOREAU |
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