Receive, O Lord, Thy Departed Servant

Hymn (Translated from the Russian)

“What delight is there in this life that is not mingled with earthly sorrow? Whose hopes have not been in vain, and where among mortals is there one who is happy? Of all the fruits of our labour and toil, there is nothing that shall last and nothing that is of any worth. Where is the earthly glory that shall endure and shall not pass away? All things are but ashes, and a phantom, shadow and smoke. Everything shall vanish as the dust of a whirlwind; and face to face with death, we are defenceless and unarmed; the hand of the mighty is feeble, and the commands of Kings are as nothing. Receive, O Lord, Thy departed Servant into Thy happy dwelling-place.

“Death like a furious knight-at-arms encountered me, and like a robber he laid me low; the grave opened its jaws and took away from me all that was alive. Kinsmen and children, save yourselves, I call to you from the grave. Be saved, my brothers and my friends, so that you may not behold the flames of Hell. Life is the kingdom of vanity, and as we sniff the odour of death, we wither like flowers. Why do we toss about in vain? Our thrones are all graves, and our palaces are but ruins. Receive, O Lord, Thy departed Servant into Thy happy dwelling-place.

“Amidst the heap of rotting bones, who is king or servant, or judge or warrior? Who is deserving of the Kingdom of God and who is the rejected and the evil-doer? O brothers, where is the gold and the silver, where are the many hosts of servants? Who is a rich man and who is a poor man? All is ashes and smoke, and dust and mould, phantom and shadow and dream; only with Thee in Heaven, O Lord, there is refuge and safety; that which was flesh shall perish, and our pomp fall in corruption. Receive, O Lord, Thy departed Servant into Thy happy dwelling-place.

“And Thou, who dost intercede on behalf of us all, Thou, the defender of the oppressed, to Thee, most Blessed One, we cry, on behalf of our brother who lies here. Pray to thy Divine Son. Pray, O most Pure among Women, for him. Grant that having lived out his life upon earth, he may leave his affliction behind him. All things are ashes, dust and smoke and shadow. O friends, put not your faith in a phantom! When, on some sudden day, the corruption of death shall breathe upon us, we shall perish like wheat, cut down by the sickle in the cornfields. Receive, O Lord, Thy departed Servant into Thy happy dwelling-place.

“I follow I know not what path; half-hopeful, half-afraid, I go; my sight is dim, my heart has grown cold, my hearing is faint, my eyes are closed. I am lying sightless and without motion, I cannot hear the wailing of the brethren, and the blue smoke from the censer pours forth for me no fragrance; yet my love shall not die; and in the name of that love, O my brothers, I implore you, that each one of you may thus call upon God: Lord, on that day, when the trumpet shall sound the end of the world, receive Thy departed Servant, O Lord, into Thy happy dwelling-place.”

-Translation by Maurice Baring, from "The Puppet Show of Memory," which I just finished reading yesterday. A large section of it is about his experiences with the Russian people before the Revolution.