Ode vii. Irmos.
The angel made the furnace to bedew....
From the primeval fall were sav’d the martyrs by thy blood, and, with their own blood sprinkled, they clearly thy slaying image forth. Blessed art thou, our fathers’ God.
O life-originating Word, thou hast slain raging death; and him O now receive, O Christ, who sleeps in faith, and sings, and says, Blessed art thou, our fathers’ God.
Glory.
Divine-originating Lord, who me, a man, with breath divine sufflated hast; vouchsafe thy kingdom unto him departed hence, who, Saviour, sings to thee, Blessed art thou, our fathers’ God.
Both now. Theotokion.
Most undefil’d, conceiving God, who crush’d death’s gates and burst the bars, thou higher than all creatures art. Therefore, we faithful thee, O pure, extol as Mother of God.
Ode viii. Irmos.
From flame thou didst a dew outpour on reverend ones....