My prayer by Hristo Botev translated by Ann Wood"Blessed God ours ..."
Oh, my God, he is God! You are not in the heavens, but you, as you are in me, God in my heart and soul ...
It is not you who worship men and kings, and whose candles burn the Orthodox cattle;
it is not you who made the man and woman the mud, and the man left you a slave to be on the earth;
it is not you who anointed kings, papists, patriarchs, but in your wilderness you have forsaken my poor brothers;
not you who teach the slave to endure and to pray and feed it to the tomb only with hopeless nakedness;
not you, the gods of the liars, the dishonest tyrants, not you, the idol of the fools, of the human enemies!
And thou, O God, to the mind, Defender of the slaves, to whom the nations celebrate the day soon!
Inspire yourself, oh God! love for freedom - to fight who can with the people's enemies.
Also support me the hand, and when the slave reigns, in the ranks of the struggle to be the nook and I the grave!
Do not let a cold heart cool out abroad, and my voice pass quietly like a desert! ...
Poetry by antoniya katelieva-wood
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Written on 2019-02-21 at 04:28
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