And Dyomna was ready To work without ceasing For all who had helped her; But salt was her trouble, Her thought, ever present. She dreamt of it, sang of it, Sleeping and waking, 120 While washing, while spinning, At work in the fields, While rocking her darling Her favourite, Grisha. And many years after The death of his mother, His heart would grow heavy And sad, when the peasants Remembered one song, And would sing it together 130 As Dyomna had sung it; They called it "The Salt Song." _The Salt Song_ Now none but God Can save my son: He's dying fast, My little one.... I give him bread--- He looks at it, He cries to me, "Put salt on it." 140 I have no salt-- No tiny grain; "Take flour," God whispers, "Try again...." He tastes it once, Once more he tries; "That's not enough, More salt!" he cries. The flour again.... My tears fall fast 150 Upon the bread,-- He eats at last! The mother smiles In pride and joy: Her tears so salt Have saved the boy. * * * * * Young Grisha remembered This song; he would sing it Quite low to himself In the clerical college. 160 The college was cheerless, And singing this song He would yearn for his mother, For home, for the peasants, His friends and protectors. And soon, with the love Which he bore to his mother, His love for the people Grew wider and stronger.... At fifteen years old 170 He was firmly decided To spend his whole life In promoting their welfare, In striving to succour The poor and afflicted. The demon of malice Too long over Russia Has scattered its hate; The shadow of serfdom Has hidden all paths 180 Save corruption and lying. Another song now Will arise throughout Russia; The angel of freedom And mercy is flying Unseen o'er our heads, And is calling strong spirits To follow the road Which is honest and clean. Oh, tread not the road 190 So shining and broad: Along it there speed With feverish tread The multitudes led By infamous greed. There lives which are spent With noble intent Are mocked at in scorn; There souls lie in chains, And bodies and brains 200 By passions are torn, By animal thirst For pleasures accurst Which pass in a breath. There hope is in vain, For there is the reign Of darkness and death. * * * * * In front of your eyes Another road lies-- 'Tis honest and clean. 210 Though steep it appears And sorrow and tears Upon it are seen: It leads to the door Of those who are poor, Who hunger and thirst, Who pant without air. Who die in despair-- Oh, there be the first!