Say, what pilgrim's pious hand
Cherished thee in hours of pain,
When he to this northern land
Brought thee, fed with tears like rain?
Or perchance on some good knight,
Pure in heart and calm of vision,
Men bestowed thy garland bright—
Fit as he for realms Elysian!
Now preserved with reverent care,
At the Ikon's gilded shrine,
Faithful watch thou keepest there,
Holy Palm of Palestine.
Where the lamp burns faint and dim,
Folded in a mystic calm,
Near the Cross—the sign of Him—
Rest in safety, sacred Palm.
—Michael Yourievich Lermontov.
(Translated by Mrs. Rosa Newmarch.)
