Текст песни The Trumpet - Rabindranath Tagore

The trumpet lies in the dust
The wind is weary, the light is dead
Ah, the evil day!
Come, fighters, carrying your flags, and singers, with your war songs!
Come, pilgrims of the march, hurrying on your journey!
The trumpet lies in the dust waiting for us

I was on my way to the temple
With my evening offerings, seeking for a place of rest
After the day's dusty toil
Hoping my hurts would be healed
And the stains in my garment washed white
When I found thy trumpet lying in the dust

Was it not the hour for me to light my evening lamp?
Had not the night sung its lullaby to the stars?
O thou blood-red rose, my poppies of sleep have paled and faded!
I was certain my wanderings were over
And my debts all paid when suddenly
I came upon thy trumpet lying in the dust

Strike my drowsy heart with thy spell of youth!
Let my joy in life blaze up in fire
Let the shafts of awakening fly through the heart of night
And a thrill of dread shake blindness and palsy
I have come to raise thy trumpet from the dust

Sleep is no more for me
My walk shall be through showers of arrows
Some shall run out of their houses
And come to my side, some shall weep
Some in their beds shall toss and groan in dire dreams
For tonight, thy trumpet shall be sounded

From thee, I have asked peace only to find shame
Now I stand before thee, help me to put on my armor!
Let hard blows of trouble strike fire into my life
Let my heart beat in pain, the drum of thy victory
My hands shall be utterly emptied to take up thy trumpet