Calming the Storm. Протоиерей Олег Штельман

down the wind – turn to amble!”

      The silence has fell all around,

      The wind became calm from the shame,

      Got quiet and does not make a sound

      And sea hardly breathes, all tamed.

      And those who were sat in a boat,

      Are asking each other: “Who is it?

      Dictates to the nature within single thought,

      So humble, the world one is claiming”.

      The oars are playing and creaking so lonely,

      Raking all water in circles,

      Coming to an end of an uncalm journey,

      A peacefulness now it is searching.

      A moon has already arrived at the shore

      And everywhere stars shine so bright

      And shore meets them all with so pure

      And solemn silence inside.

The Holy Spirit Monastery. 2000.

      The Ballad of the Vilna Martyrs

      Dedicated to the suffering of martyrs Anthony, John, and Eustache (names in paganism are Kumets, Nezhilo, and Kruglets).

      In Lithuania so ancient and wild,

      Where the thorns and thistles have raised,

      Where sacrifices were made to demons of vile,

      Where the pagan ancient gods have been praised.

      A priest-monk appeared out of the blue,

      In a prayer and labour he truly believed,

      The weeds he destroyed all way through,

      An example of life of a saint he lived.

      And in the good soil he sowed,

      Not sparing all the sacred seeds,

      With faith the harvest he brought,

      Before sunrise he stood on his feet.

      And the Orthodox Faith grew,

      Attracting hearts from inside.

      And in King’s yard he would sew,

      A monk of a pure divine light.

      Two wondrous fellows so great,

      In their hearts grief quickly leaked,

      The large feast they kept in a shade,

      Those who kept the Fasts truly strict.

      Yet, then an unrest at the court

      The pagans would rise one by one,

      To King in a crowd they broke to behold:

      “You answer or your head be gone!”

      And King, he was lost in a fright,

      Has captured those saints in prison.

      He kept them for more than a year inside

      And dreamt to break down their will and a reason.

      In prison he often would come just to see

      And gently he went as he says:

      “My friends, you have to be simply like me!

      Where Christ in my soul I praise.

      This mystery I keep so deep and always,

      I hid in my heart with no struggle or worry.

      For idols they have, I give them my praise,

      And honour them all in a glory.

      Listen to the king, my friends!

      Olgerd is wishing you only the good,

      You’ll have reward and honour at hands,

      A sacrifice waits at the idol’s foot.”

      They answered then without fear:

      You’re fearing no Christ in your heart.

      Realize it at last, good King, our dear,

      That the Universe has been made by God.

      A praise just for him should be said,

      Forever and ever with love.

      Yet, idols to praise, cold and dead,

      Is demons so sly, make them laugh.

      And glory in time will collapse,

      And body will crumble to dust,

      Eternity as a strict judge,

      Will make final judgment at last.

      In chains, with Christ we all learn,

      Dreaming of world of another.

      With freedom our spirit burns,

      In joy of eternal like brothers.”

      The rustle of magnificent oaks,

      Like hymns of the winds in reply,

      Of wondrous saints it spoke,

      They hanged them on oak in a while.

      Anthony was name of the one,

      Who was the strictest of all in his heart

      For glory of Christ, so great he would call,

      Became first to appear next to God.

      The other, called John, like a fighter

      Inherited glory of crown,

      Holding a victory up, bright as lightning,

      Peace and a happiness our brother has found.

      Eustathius, a relative close,

      By power of saints surprised,

      Baptized and sang to the God,

      And all the vile idols despised.

      The sinister people were mad,

      A court of the vile appeared,

      A judgment of truth should be laid,

      For Christian people to fear.

      “Beloved, courtier, the Kruglet! —

      A pagan priest then has exclaimed, —

      You’ve lost love of King that you had,

      And with awful death yourself claimed.

      Lithuanian gods did not follow,

      And found the rage in their eyes.

      Think twice with your mind so much shallow,

      Are you wishful to them sacrifice?

      Receive all the love from the court,

      We are sorry for you, you can trust.

      Repent! – we shall do as foretold,

      In our arms we’ll accept you at last.”

      “I choose to suffer with Christ,

      Than brotherhood next to a demon”, —

      The young sage instantly replied, —

      “Our Heavenly Father, I’m dreaming,

      A love so much sacred will rise,

      In exchange for curse of the priests.

      Your gods, you should soon realize,

      Are sins and the vile, none the least.

      The Holy, in Heavens, our Lord,

      He is everywhere, always with me.

      In chains, broken, poor