Russia

I am she whose hands are strong and her eyes blinded And lips athirst Till upon the night of nations many-minded One bright day burst: Till the myriad stars be molten into one light, And that light thine; Till the soul of man be parcel of the sunlight, And thine of mine. By the snows that blanch not him nor cleanse from slaughter Who slays his brother; By the stains and by the chains on me thy daughter; (Cho.) Hear us, O mother.