There is another prayer written in exile around 1942 by Julian Tuwim. It reached very quickly the occupied Poland and, some say became the anthem of the Polish resistance movement. I'm not sure it's entirely true, but most of those people certainly fought not only the Germans, but for a better Poland too. A Prayer Kindle the clouds into a glare, and Strike at our hearts with a bell of gold, Open our Poland as with a bolt You clear up the overcast heavens. Allow us to rid our fathers’ home Of our cinders, and holy ruins: Let our house be poor but also clean, Our house, raised from the cemetery. To the land, when it stirs from the dead, And is gilded by freedom’s luster, Give the rule of wise and righteous men, Mighty in wisdom and in goodness. And when the people rise to their feet, Let them raise their veiny, calloused fists: Give the toilers ownership, the fruit Of their labor in villages and Cities. Chase away the bankers, Lord, Stop the growth of money from money. Let the vain be armed with humbleness, To the humble give an angry pride. Teach us that under Your sunny sky ‘There is no more Greek and no more Jew.’ Knock the stupid crown from the heads of Puffed up men and the supercilious. And set up the skull of a dead man On the desk of a growling ruler. Strike with your bolt when in glory’s name A haughty man seizes his weapon, Do not permit an unjust sword to Have for a handle the cross of Your Agony. Let good will be done, of Noble hearts which grew up in defeat Give us back the bread of Polish fields, Return the coffins of Polish pine, But above all give our words, altered Craftily by wheelers and dealers, Their uniqueness and their truthfulness: Let the law always denote law, and Let justice mean nothing but justice. Let more of Your name resound in deeds Of men than in their song; take away The gift of dreaming from the stupid, Realize the dreams of noble men. Cause us to bless the conflagration That destroyed our property, if it Proves to be a purifying fire For our souls touched with decay. Any Size of Poland—let her have greatness: To the sons of her spirit or her Body give a greatness of hearts if She’s great, and a greatness of hearts If she’s small. Wedged between the German Barbarian and the new nation of A hundred nations—give a friendly Frontier on the east, an eternal Abyss on the west. Tear off the cross Your hands that bleed, together with nails, And cover, cover Your eyes with them When the time of vengeance draws near us, Give us leave to break Your commandment, When we wade toward Warsaw across The Tatra Mountains of dead Germans, The Baltic of enemy’s damned blood.