Czar Nicholas, whose life is suddenly hurled

On the high dreadful splendours of the world;

We give thee tears, because thy father lies

With Death's eternal calm upon his eyes;

And pity, for thine heart had turned away

From all the glory and the terror of that sway.

To him, Death's solemn gift of quietness:

To thee, life's very sorest strain and stress;

Vigils of awe, and festivals of dread;

Care by thy throne, and trouble by thy bed.

Yet to thy face the face of Hope is set,

With eyes that oft have wept, and still are wet.

For his the past, who lieth cold and dumb;

For thine the present, and the near–to–come.

He gave the gift of Peace; oh, be it thine

To give the larger gift, and more divine!

Let not thine eyes, O Czar, refuse to see

No gift avails the land that is not free.

Let not thine ears, O Czar, refuse to hear

The cry sent up to God from year to year:

Nor, if thou see and hear, shut sight and sound,

Guarded by Fear and Sloth, in night's profound.

Thou lonely great one, set thy strenuous might

Against the clash of elemental fight.

Dare, as the saviours of the world must dare;

Bear, as the saviours of the world must bear.

And if thou win, of Love thy guerdon take;

And if thou perish, perish for Love's sake.