Page:The Kobzar of the Ukraine.pdf/71

BEYOND the hills are mightier hills,
Cloud mountains o'er them rise,
Red, red have flowed their streams and rills,
They're sown with human woes and sighs.

There long ago in days of old
Olympus' Czar, the angry Jove,
His wrath did pour on a hero bold,
On brave Prometheus, he who strove
The fire of heaven to seize for men.

On mountain side, in vulture's den
He suffered what no mortal pen
May well indite. The savage beak
Of his hearts' blood doth daily reek.
Yet the torn heart again revives,
To triumph o'er its tortures strives.

Our souls yield not to grievous ills,
To freedom march our stubborn wills.
Though waves of trouble o'er us roll
The waves move not the steadfast soul.
Our living spirit is not in chains,
The word of God in glory reigns.

Tis not for us to challenge Thee,
Though life rolls on in toil and tears;
Though we Thy purpose cannot see
We cling to hope 'mid doubts and fears.
Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleep
When will it awaken, Lord?