Ode 7. Irmos. The Youths from Judea.
Anastasis liturgical translations — translated by Ephrem Lash
Joy of Martyrs, save me from the world’s stumbling blocks, the dishonour of passions and every tribulation, and grant that I may sing each day: God of our fathers, blessed are you!
My good protector, do not utterly despise me who am storm-tossed by the troubles of life, but take pity on me by your prayers, and save me who sing: God of our fathers, blessed are you!
Save me, all-blessed one, by your fervent help from foul sloth, dread sin and blackness, for I have recourse to you in faith, that I may faithfully honour you to all the ages.
Having squandered the years of my life in great indifference, O Virgin, I fall down before you and cry out: Rouse me, save me, as I cry to your Son: God of our fathers, blessed are you!
Translated by Ephrem Lash. Edition lash.en.anastasis.