You are filled with anguish
For the suffering of others.
And no one's grief
Has ever passed you by.
You are relentless
Only toward yourself,
Forever cold and pitiless.
But if only you could look upon
Your own sadness from a distance,
Just once with a loving soul -
Oh, how you would pity yourself,
How sadly you would weep.

To my beloved Mama, April 1917.


Give patience, Lord to us, Thy Children,
In these dark stormy days to bear
The persecution of our people,
The tortures falling to our shores.
Give strength, Just God, to us who need it,
The persecutors to forgive,
Our heavy, painful cross to carry
And Thy great meekness to achieve.
When we are plundered and insulted,
In days of mutinous unrest
We turn for help to Thee, Christ Savior,
That we may stand the bitter test.
Lord of the world, God of Creation,
Give us Thy blessing through our prayer
Give peace of heart to us, O Master,
This hour of utmost dread to bear.
And on the threshold of the grave,
Breathe power divine into our clay
That we, Thy children, may find strength
In meekness for our foes to pray.  -- 1918.