Ode 7. Irmos.

The choir of Angels, the choir of Martyrs and of your Apostles, O Word, Lover of mankind, ever implore your great compassion: have pity on us all through the Mother of God, as you are compassionate.

The children of Abraham in the Persian furnace, fired by love for true religion rather than by the flame, cried out: Blessed are you, Lord, in the temple of your glory.

Of the Saint. Another Irmos.

Unerring Apostles of Christ by the harmony of your all-holy proclamation you dispelled the winter of error and enlightened the mind of the faithful with the knowledge of God.

Godly Disciples you are an unending source of sweet-smelling myrrh; fill those who have recourse to you with the sweet scent of the spiritual myrrh, and abolish the foul-smelling passions.

Glorious Apostles of the incorrupt Word, I have been utterly corrupted by the sins of the flesh: save me as I sing: Blessed are you, Lord, in the temple of your glory.

O Holy One, ask him who dwells in the Holy Place to hallow us and send down upon us his rich mercies.

Glorious One, by becoming holy, upright and meek, mild and humble you were raised to the height of glory, performing the wonders and marvels of the priesthood.

Venerable One, having kept the divine laws of God, you appeared as a most pure temple; therefore we cry to you, O Blessed One, free your servants from all lawlessness.

Put to sleep the rebellions of the passions by your unsleeping intercession; make me waken, O Maiden, by driving far away the slumber of sloth.