Rhymes from the Russian

by Unknown

TE DEUM.

In our village there’s cold and there’s hunger;

Through the mist the sad morn rises chill;

Tolls the bell—the parishioners calling

From afar to the church on the hill;

Austere and severe and commanding

Pealed that dull tone thro’ the air.

I spent in the church that wet morning;

I can never forget the scene there.

For there knelt the village hamlet,