O give us everything you have
And make the hall with music ring,
Make piers and roof and rafters sing,
Sviatoslav, Sviatoslav!
There is no sweat upon your brow
As you, composed, stand at the end;
There is no error to defend,
As turning round you take your bow.
Will you return to play again,
Or will you never grace this shore,
But be a stranger evermore
To play for gods, not mortal men.
For Jupiter in lofty heights
And Odin in Valhalla's halls
Will want your music in their walls,
They're such Olympian delights.
Or angels from the realms above
Will lay their harps aside for now,
Inviting you to take a bow
Where reigns the eternal God of Love.
But surely not just yet awhile;
On earth we need your glorious muse
To create sounds that still beguile
The fallen spirit. Don't refuse!
Sviatoslav, Sviatoslav,
Hark now! The sound that greets your ears
Is music of the heavenly spheres,
Sviatoslav, Sviatoslav!
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