Aposticha of Lauds. Of Compunction.

Glory. Both now.

**Theotokion.**

Alas, why have I been likened to the barren fig tree, and quail at the curse with the felling? But Christ God, heavenly husbandman, make my parched soul fruitful, and like the Prodigal Son accept me and have mercy on me.

Overlook the multitudes of my offences, Lord, born of a Virgin, and wiping away all my iniquities, grant me the thought of returning, I beg, as you alone love mankind, and have mercy on me.

Of the Martyrs.

The holy Martyrs struggled upon earth, they remained steadfast in the open air, they were given up to fire, water received them; this was their cry: We have passed through fire and water, and you have brought us to repose. At their prayers, O God, have mercy on us.

Hope of the hopeless, life of the despairing, assistance of those who have recourse to you, holy Lady, Virgin, Mother of God, send down to us your help.