Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/345

 

And from out of the haze, comes the fitful blaze
Of a blood-red light, like a sword to the sight,—
'Tis the dawn of a coming age.

O, brothers apace, towards life's trace!
At the blood-red sword do not waver.
This sword was not shaped for the braver,
And for him who is hale.
Only tombs this sword overturns, and
But fallen dwellings it burns, and
He who is strong shall prevail.

O, brothers, brothers, the time is at hand!
O, brothers, brothers, how do ye stand?
Are your fields yet garnished for reaping?
Fair stars are in the ascendant,
Seed falls that is golden-resplendent,—
Are your fields yet garnished for reaping?

Shake ye stifling dreams away!
At lightning speed comes Ascension Day,—
In vain shall he cry who now goes astray,—
He only shall see it who bears the array!

"Cez Plan."