Reuters is reporting the signing of a peace deal. Let us pray.

Testament (Zapovit)

When I am dead, bury me
In my beloved Ukraine,
My tomb upon a grave mound high
Amid the spreading plain,
So that the fields, the boundless steppes,
The Dnieper’s plunging shore
My eyes could see, my ears could hear
The mighty river roar.

When from Ukraine the Dnieper bears
Into the deep blue sea
The blood of foes … then will I leave
These hills and fertile fields —
I’ll leave them all and fly away
To the abode of God,
And then I’ll pray …. But until that day
I nothing know of God.

Oh bury me, then rise ye up
And break your heavy chains
And water with the tyrants’ blood
The freedom you have gained.
And in the great new family,
The family of the free,
With softly spoken, kindly word
Remember also me.

 Taras Shevchenko, 25 December 1845, Pereiaslav (translated by John Weir, Toronto, 1961)

 Landscape with river in Ukraine - Volodymyr Orlovsky

Volodymyr Orlovsky

Evening in Ukraine - Arkhip Kuindzhi 

Arkhip Kuindzhi

Ukrainian landscape - Boris Kustodiev

 Boris Kustodiev

Prayer service at the farm in Ukraine - Vladimir Makovsky

 Vladimir Makovsky

River in Ukraine - Efim Volkov

 Efim Volkov


Taras Shevchenko

Taras Shevchenko was born a serf; his freedom was bought by a benefactor as a result of his artistic talent. A poet and painter, political prisoner and exile, he is considered to be one the founders of Ukrainian literature and of the Ukrainian written language. He died at the age of forty-seven, only seven days before the announcement of the Emancipation of Serfs.


You did not play me false, 0 Fate,
You were a brother, closest friend
To this poor wretch. You took my hand
When I was still a little tot
And walked me to the deacon’s school
To gather knowledge from the sot.
“My boy, just study hard,” you said,
And you’ll be somebody in time!”
I listened, studied, forged ahead,
Got educated. But you lied.
What am I now? But never mind!
We’ve walked the straight path, you and I,
We have not cheated, compromised
Or lived the very slightest lie.
So let’s march on, dear fate of mine!
My humble, truthful, faithful friend!
Keep marching on: there glory lies;
March forward – that’s my testament.

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