Prayer. Angel. When the Yellowing Cornfield Ripples

Prayer
In the moment of difficult life,
Is grief pressing on the heart?
One wondrous prayer
I recite by heart.

There is a grace-given power
In the harmony of living words,
And within them breathes an unfathomed,
Holy charm.

From the soul, like a burden, will slide off,
Doubt will go far away—
And I will believe, and I will weep,
And so easily… so easily…

Angel
At midnight’s sky an angel flew
And softly sang a gentle song;
And moon and stars and clouds in throng
Listened to that holy hymn.

He sang of bliss of sinless spirits
Beneath the shelters of paradise gardens;
He sang of the great God, and praise
Of him was not pretended.

He carried the tender soul in his arms
For the world of sorrow and tears;
And the sound of his song in the young soul
Remained—no words, yet alive.

And long, in that far world, it languished,
Full of a wondrous yearning;
And no heavenly sounds could replace
Those dull songs of earth.

When the yellowing field stirs
And the fresh forest rustles at the breeze,
And the raspberry plum hides in the garden
Under the sweet shadow of the green leaf;
When the lily is sprinkled with dew and fragrant,
In the blushing evening, or in the golden morning hour,
From under the bush to me the silvery lily
Bows kindly with its head;
When the cold spring plays along the ravine
And, dipping thought into some vague dream,
It murmurs to me a mysterious saga
Of a peaceful land, whence it rushes—
Then the тревога of my soul grows calm,
Then the wrinkles on my brow separate—
And happiness I can understand on Earth,
And in the heavens I see God…