To The Crucified Homeland - Poem by Jurgis Baltrušaitis
An orphan's fate, to stray and stumble
On ways of blood and fire, is thine...
Yet in your wordless grief, my humble,
Believing heart, await the Sign...
Hail beats the crop, stark lightnings cleave it,
The ancient shields are sighs and groans,
Yet He who built this land, believe it,
Makes wine of tears and bread of stones.
You labor painfully and slowly
Through fruitless days of blight and sleet,
Yet trust and deem divine the lowly,
Mute stigmata of bleeding feet.
And though the pain seem daily greater
And blessing bitter from above,
Lift up the mind to the Creator
For the last victory of love.
Comments about To The Crucified Homeland by Jurgis Baltrušaitis
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You