VI.
Three times have the waters frozen
Thrice thawed at the touch of spring
Three times did the Servant
From Kiev her store of blessings bring.
And each time gentle Katherine,
As daughter, set her on her way,
A fourth time led her by the mounds
Where many dear departed lay.
Then prayed to God for her safe return,
For whom in absence her heart would yearn.
It was the Sunday of the Virgin,
Old Trophimus sat in garments white,
On the bench, in wide straw hat,
All amid the sunshine bright.
Before him with a little dog
His frolicsome grandson played,
The while his little granddaughter
Was in her mother’s garb arrayed.
Smiling he welcomed her as matron;
For so at “visitors” they played.
“But what did you do with the visitor’s cake?
Did somebody steal it in the wood,
Or perhaps you’ve simply forgotten to bake?”
For so they talked in lightsome mood.
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But see,—Who comes?
’Tis their Anna at the door!
Run old and young! Who’ll come before?
But Anna waits not their welcome wordy.
“Is Mark at home, or still on journey?”
“He’s off on journey long enough,”
Says the old man in accents gruff.
With pain the Servant sadly saith,
“Home have I come with failing breath;
Nor ’mid strangers would I wait for death.
May I but live my Mark to see,
For something grievously weighs on me.”
From little bag the children’s gifts
She takes. There’s crosses and amulets.
For Irene is of beads a string,
And pictures too, and for Karpon
A nightingale to sweetly sing,
Toy horses and a wagon.
A fourth time she brings a ring
From St. Barbara to Katherine.
Next the old man’s gift she handles,
It’s just three holy waxen candles.
For Mark and herself
she nothing brought;
For want of money
she nothing bought.
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For want of strength
more funds to earn,
Half a bun was her wealth
on her return.
As to how to divide it
Let the babes decide it.
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