Into the midst of riotous squabblersInto the midst of riotous squabblersGod sounds his gong; Here is the Slavic Pope, your new ruler; Make way, applaud. This one will not, like Italians before him, Flee sworded throngs; Our world disdainer will fight like a tiger, Fearless like God. Sunshine resplendent shall be his countenance, Light shining true, That we may follow him into the radiance Where God resides. Multitudes growing obey all his orders, His prayers too: He tells the sun to stand still in the heavens, And it abides. Now he approaches, the one who distributes Global new might, He who can make blood circulate backwards Inside our veins. Now in our hearts the pulsation starts flowing, Heavenly light; Power is a spirit, turns thought into actron Inside his brain. And we need power in order to carry This world of ours; Here comes our Slavic Pope to the rescue, Brother of mankind. Angel batallions dust off his throne with Whisks made of flowers, While he pours lotion onto our bosom, Pontiff benign. He will distribute love like a warlord Passes out arms; His strength sacramental will gather the cosmos Into his palms. Then will he send glad tidings to flutter Like Noah's dove: News that the spirit's here and acknowledged, Shining alone. And we shall see part nicely before him The sky above. He'll stand on his throne, illumined, creating Both world and throne. His voice will transfrom ;he nations to brethren. Burnt offerings Circle the spirits in their march toward Their final goal. Strength sacramental of hundreds of nations Will help our king See that the spirits' work overpowers Death's mournful toll. The wounds of the world shall he cleanse, and banish Rot. pus and all-- He will redeem the world and bring to it Both health and love. He shall sweep clean the insides of churches And clear the hall, And then reveal the Lord our Creator Shining above.
Juliusz Slowacki
trans.: Sandra Celt
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