Dmitry Merezhkovsky (b. 1865)

OVER earth awakes a whirring,

And a rustling, and a stirring,

Trumpet-voices fill the skies:

“Lo, they call us. Brothers, rise!”

“No. The darkness holds unshaken.

I will sleep, and not awaken.

Do not rouse me. Do not call.

Do not strike the coffin-wall.”

“Now you dare not sleep. Resounding

Sternly, the last trump is sounding.

They are rising from the tomb.

As from the maternal womb

Of the opened earth forth-flinging,

From their graves the dead are springing.”

“No, I cannot. All unuttered

My words died. My eyes are shuttered.

I shall not believe their lies.

I shall not, I cannot rise!

Brother,—I am ashamed and shrinking,—

Dust, corruption,—rotting, stinking!”

“Brother, God has seen our prison.

All shall wake, and all be risen.

All shall yet be judged by Him.

Cherubim and seraphim

High the holy Throne are bearing!

Here our heavenly King is faring.

Brother, he must live who dies.

Glad or grieving, thou shalt rise.”