"Little Father," we have suffered long, and sorrowed,
We the "children" of the wonderful White Tsar,
Steadfast patience from staunch loyalty have borrowed,
Slaved for Slavdom still in Peace, and died in War;
We have borne the yoke of power, and its abuses,
We have trusted cells and shackles served their turn;
Nay, that e'en the ruthless knout had noble uses;
Now we starve—and think—and burn.
"Little Father," is your power then so paternal
As in pious proclamation is set forth?