Into the midst of riotous squabblers,

by Juliusz Słowacki (written in 1848)

Into the midst of riotous squabblers
   God 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 the 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.