There are the modern prophets here,
Though altars totally are felt,
Their eyes are very deep and clear -
In them, the flame of future set.

For them, the calls of fame are alien,
They-re pressed by mass and depth of words,
All they are frightened, pale and sullen
In tombs of stony abodes.

And sometimes in the fits of sadness,
A prophet, just repelled by us,
Rise up to skies his look of greatness -
The look of clear and beaming eyes.

He says that he-s in bonds of madness,
But that his soul-s a light for us,
That he has seen in depths of sadness
The shining face of Jesus Christ.

The dreams of Lord have many faces,
Kind is a hand of him, who gives,
Not just the one, like him, in grace is,
And as a knight of kindness lives.

He says that World is not such fierce,
That he-s a prince of Future Dawn.
But just the towers- black spirits
Listen to him with mock and scorn.