In the infinite smallness of his greatness ... Bashny.Net

< Felix Komarov



In the infinite smallness of his greatness,
Flies to the clouds drop a song bird.
In the infinite joy of their bitter fate
Floats blue, turning clouds.
And Exile soul looks out lost ...
This life is so good that melts lamentation.
Light shed rain, reflected in puddles ...
It will be good bozhenka as hoteychik tum.
There are people honest, strong, beautiful ...
The sun will be welcomed with songs by gray willows.
Ah Yarylo affectionate, smertushka Snow Maiden
Paints the world of colors you like baker rolls
White browned, take out of their shoulder blades ...
Crosshair with faith ... oh, and be sweet.
Incident angels, each according to tithe,
Even the ranks of the fallen and thrown into prison.
Enough bread juicy enough clear ...
light Not find vicious, do not find beautiful.
Do not find a small, do not find a great ...
Depletes the complaint, the flesh beneath the chains.
And the soul Exile ruchenki drawn to God.
Many times, be disappointed, their faith in a better.
After rest and hear singing ...
Pray to the Lord and go to the Assumption.