Ode 5.

What mortal tongue could tell, glorious Saint, your mode of living beyond admiration and your immaterial and blessed life, which, wondrously wounded with love for the Saviour, you lived out bravely and nobly to the end.

Having drunk from the torrent of delight, all-glorious Saint, you have become a source, gushing forth the divine water of compunction; those who drink from it with joy praise the struggles of your toils, all-holy.

Dreadfully crushed by the heavy burden of my iniquities I implore your compassion, O Lord, lighten the greatest toils, entreated by the more than infinite ascetic labour of your Saint.

As you have a mother’s boldness towards your Son, O All-pure, do not neglect your natural care for us; for it is you alone whom we Christians bring before the Master as gracious propitiation.