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THE RUSSIAN REVIEW
Then Father Olympy paused, turned around, and, opening wide his large, angry eyes, said sternly and heavily:
"Well?"
For the first time his wife became timidly silent. She turned away from her husband, covered her face with a handkerchief, and burst into tears.
And he walked on, immense, dark, and majestic, like a monument.
The Prayer.
By M. J. Lermontov.
Translated by Lindsay S. Perkins.
In life's dark moments when with care
And grief my heart is sore,
The accents of a wondrous prayer
I whisper o'er and o'er.
They bring a blessing with each tone,
Those living words of light,
And breathe a charm before unknown,
A holy, calm delight.
The burdens of my doubts and fears
Far from my spirit go;
My faith, my penitential tears,
How easy, easy flow!