Beaming in his face like an angel,
Eustathius was crowned with a crown.
Among brothers he was the youngest,
And wisest he was among all men around.
An innocent heart that he had
He sealed for the Christ so much wise,
His beautiful youth of a lad,
He changed for eternal life in Paradise.
An ancient oak so heavily cried
A witness of their latest times.
And long time since then after while,
Upon tree, the three of them hanging.
They hung. Not allowed to put down,
So that beasts could tear them apart.
But the Lord who created alive, all around,
The saints were protected by God.
Then a cloud pillar has lit all from the shade
As the glory from Heavens revealed.
Our Lord, with His hand so glorious and great
To the Heavenly throne them concealed.
Oh, marvelous pillars of faith!
Through centuries faith Orthodox,
You would so faithfully claim it always,
Like golden ark built by the Noah.
Your bodies that will never perish
With no words, the praise to dear God they are giving,
A wondrous glory they sing to Creator,
Inspiring all good men that are currently living!
A Parental Hymn
The stars in the sky are shining so warm,
– By Lord, the Creator, these candles burn.
For souls of departed, for souls of the living,
Big, famous, simple for God, and poor even.
All world so much infinite, – a Divine temple
Wise and eternal, a God’s gift example.
And this Milky Way will remind to each other,
That souls of departed are forever with Father.
The moon as a priest, may with smoke to them censer,
And voice full of joy may through Universe descending:
No names are forgotten ever by God
In that world each person in Him signifcance’s got.
Dedicated to the 1000-th Anniversary of Russian monasticism on Athos
Those whom this world did not deserve,
Hid in the precipices deep,
Those sweet hymns world did not observe,
The God has heard the saints speak.
No higher music that our God can hear,
Born with a song in silent peace,
Where purest heart is ringing free,
Far from the sinful bustle bliss.
Chorus:
Jesus Christ, the Son of God,
Have mercy upon us and keep us all safe,
We are walking through path that we’ve got,
Sanctify our path with Thy truest fame.
In mountains, the deserts, crevices so deep,
A judgment of world has reached its cadence,
To prayers so long, to an infinite weep
God heeded so gently with His providence.
Then prophets were born to the world,
The heroes, the kings, and even geniuses,
According to faith, their fateful lot,
To ashes with troops their kingdoms have perished.
Chorus.
Standing for the truth to death A birth where there is no perdition ever.
God’s Spirit in the holy nests
Has taken them towards Eternal Light in Heaven.
And we shall learn by their faith,
The patience, courage, and the love,
Rejecting body passion for always,
Let’s glorify till down, our God above.
Chorus.
Parable of the Hermit
There was a prisoner, the priest,
In walls of body all enchained,
A crate for all the rest restrained,
Only to God sings this artist.
Chorus:
Lord of the world, my Creator,
Your God-God-worshipersings to Thee,
With living water, please, refill me
And doors of heart reveal free.
As harp of heart is gently turning,
The strings of feelings gently touched,
With Godly memory he’s burning,
With purest prayer mind attached.
Chorus.
This singer dwells in world another,
Although, at times we all can see,
A citizen of World, this brother,
A master of his own came to be.
Chorus.
Dedication
Dedicated to the Metropolitan Joseph Semashko (1798–1868) and 1.5 million uniates converted to Orthodoxy
For ages and ages our people in pain,
Have suffered from delusions for a while
The Latin roots kept them in chains
Under the yoke so strong and so vile.
The Byzantine is long time gone,
Only the crumbs remaining.
There’s only thing in their eyes, a thorn —
The Slavic prayer’s reigning.
But providence of God’s love and will,
His only Holy Son,
Was just like “salt” to them revealed,
A quiet light, shining like sun.
Upon the Holy Christmas Eve
In Little Russia, as we learn,
Along to wondrous bells that ring,
The glorious shepherd’s born.
Joseph was born by destiny
In gentry roots concealed
Doomed as a uniate is he,
As told by father’s will.
But honey bee collects