Like unto drops of rain, mine evil and brief days, becoming scant with summer’s roll, already well-nigh vanish’d are: do thou save me, O Queen.
In thy benignity and many mercies, O thou Queen, in this dread hour, when nature faileth, stand by me, an aid invincible.
Now mighty fear constrains my soul, it trembleth inexpressibly and grieves: console it, thou Most Pure, as it the body quits.
Glory.
Known refuge of the sinful and the low, make known to me thy mercy, O thou Pure, and me from demons’ hands set free; for like as many dogs they me surround.
Both now.
Lo, ’tis the time for help: lo, for thy mediation ’tis the time: lo, O thou Queen, it is the time concerning which I have both day and night with fervour cast me down and pray’d to thee.
Ode iii. Irmos.
There is none holy like to thee, O Lord....
From long ago this day, O Queen, have I foreseen, and, ever musing thereupon as though it had arriv’d, with fervent tears I thee have pray’d, Forget me not.