I am persecuted like You, Most Pure Mother
I am persecuted like You, Most Pure Mother
Keep me by the grace of the Nightingale Mountain
Under the shadow of Wisdom, under the roof of the Most High
In the Bosom above the heavens surpassed.
I will take refuge in the gardens of your pakibytiynyh
O Virgin, O Mother of the passionate and persecuted.
Father, my soul is drawn to you
Father, my soul is drawn to you
From the bottom of the pit of hell.
Seeks to exude, nourish, nourish,
Drink from the pure springs.
There is no place for it on earth, there is no place for it.
It is not subject to riveting
Cross-examination of the enemy.
Not involved in evil and damnation,
The Lamb of the Convicts Serafim and Kondratii
And Innokentii Anzerskii
Hot rivers of myrrh,
The heart is very calm, peaceful.
O Your tongue, O Supreme One, is incomparable
O Your tongue, O Supreme One, is incomparable,
May the nations submit to you and see clearly
The world will be transformed in the millennium of the Seraphites…
A new industry will rise, manifest, and unfold –
The heavenly treasury.
The next generation is a thousand times better than the scoop
The next generation is a thousand times better than the scoop.
The evil hand will not turn him
away, the civilization of homo and narco will not seduce him,
waiting for their entrance with a Triumphal Arch.
They shine with the immaculate purity of their martyr fathers.
I believe in their excellent destinies, the best of
the most beautiful saints, sung in heaven, the
young Cathars and Templars, the
guardians of the grail mysteries.
I see how pure and beautiful they are,
how easily they reject the vulgar, cunning ideals.
They are sick of the scoop with the dollar purse, they
are looking for pure, conciliar
love, they want to be united by fraternal ties,
to exchange pure hearts, marriage crowns.
A hundred thousand Last Drops are sent to them from heaven by the saints.
Look how beautiful the young knights are,
what beauty breathes from the myrrh-bearing maidens — the
pure heart of the immaculate drink asks.
And they feed them generously from the cornucopia
the grace of Solovetsky, and not the lord’s mercy.
They will rest after the liturgy in the DC-Three Idiots,
and then somewhere in the subway they will slip away unnoticed.
The soul is filled to the brim with the desire of the Cup —
and the Bridegroom opens in the night, the sweetest Lamb.