Ode 6. Irmos

Of the Mother of God. Same Irmos.

Cross-Theotokion

I will sacrifice to you with a voice of praise, O Lord, the Church cries to you, cleansed from the gore of demons by the Blood which flowed through pity from your side.

Lover of mankind, far beyond every highest honour, you accepted to be dishonoured that you might both honour me, most wickedly dishonoured, and save me by the Cross.

A dead corpse you were as you hung upon the Tree, but you made the one who brought death a corpse and now filled with shame. My Maker I sing your power.

Of the Martyrs

By wounding you, O Martyrs, with unbearable torments the all-evil one was wounded and struck down at your feet, and he appears a laughing-stock to all.

The relics of the Martyrs gush forth healings; dust lying in a tomb dissolves the demons like dust and cures manifold forms of bodily disease.

The lawless assembly has transfixed you with nails, and I am now torn in my heart by the sword of grief, my Maker, cried the Virgin as she wept.

Your Offspring, O Virgin, as the life and resurrection of all, has become the destroyer of death. Therefore I beseech you, raise again my soul that has died.

At the entreaties of your Mother and the numberless Powers, Lover of mankind, stretch out a hand to help me who am storm-tossed on the ocean of life.

Land that brought forth the divine ear of wheat, do not despise my soul, dried up and wasted away by famine of things divine, but nourish me with your Son’s divine gifts of grace.