Those Born In Obscure Times

Those born in obscure times

Do not remember their way.

We, children of Russia's frightful years

Cannot forget a thing.

Incinerating years!, do you bring tidings

of madness or of hope?

The days of war, the days of freedom

Have left a bloody sheen on our faces.

There is a muteness - the tocsin bell

Has made us close our lips.

In our hearts, once so ardent,

There is a fateful emptiness.

Let the croaking ravens

Take flight above our deathbed -

O Lord, O Lord, may those more worthy than us,

Behold Thy kingdom!