THE GREAT LENT
Slowly and softly the bells are ringing,
Slowly the faithful are coming to pray.
Inside the church we hear mournful singing –
Tis the Great Canon of Andrew of Crete.
The prodigal son’s lamentful entreaties,
The publican’s heartfelt and pitiful sigh –
All can be heard in the evening’s chanting,
In the dark twilight of the altar on high.
The elderly priest standing humbly among us,
Holding the ancient book in his hands,
Ardently prays with sadness and sorrow,
Intercedes before God for all our sins.
Somewhere outside, just beneath the windows,
Droplets of thawing snow fall from the roof,
The true high voice of a young soprano
Rings in the choir like a beautiful flute.
Who is it there, who in weary prayer,
Weeps over sinfully wasted days?
Whose sighs are those and fervent entreaties
That are slowly extinguished in the sun’s setting rays?
Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy! –
The sorrowful harmonies rise to the sky…
The faithful are ceaselessly praying and praying…
The flames of the candles are burning high…
– V.Utrenev
Translated by Natalia Sheniloff