_Ode ix. Irmos._ Weep not for me, O mother.... O weep ye not, all ye who die in faith; for Christ for us bore flesh, the cross, and sepulture, and made all them immortal sons that sing to him, O into judgment with thy servant enter not. Let us, ye faithful, from the heart pray Christ to stablish in the dwellings of the saints the brother who in faith and hope of resurrection sleeps; for there is judgment stern and trial dread, and none can help himself without good works, and common prayer of faithful ones; and let us cry, Lord, into judgment with thy servant enter not. _Glory._ In, Blessed One, thy glory that becomes not old, and in delights of paradise, place him who now is gone from us, and in the right-belief and penitence betaketh him to thee in faith; and of thy kingdom him a chosen partner make. _Both now. Theotokion._ God-bearing Virgin, we reverently, we, faithful ones, extol thee who art mother of life in supernatural wise; for we, aforetime dead, being made immortal, life have found; and, lo, to thee the song we end. _Deacon._ Again and again.... _Page 142._ _And the prayer_, O God of spirits.... _Page 139._ _Exapostilarion._ Now am I at rest, and much forgiveness have receiv’d; for I have passed from corruption, and am translated unto life: glory to thee, O Lord. _And the people the same._ _Verse i._ Man is as grass, his day is as a flower of the field. _Verse ii._ For his spirit goeth through in him, and he shall not be. _Verse iii._ And the mercy of the Lord shall endure to ages. _And to each verse the exapostilarion._ _Then, Glory. Both now._ Now have I chosen the maiden Mother of God, for Christ, redeemer of all, was born of her: glory to thee, O Lord. _And straightway_, Praise the Lord from the heavens....[47] _Then stichera, tone vi._ _Like_, Having despair’d.... Thy godly minister is gone to thee, now deified in the translation by thy quickening mystery, Christ: take as a bird his soul into thy hand, and range him in thy courts and in the angelic choirs, and rest him whom thou hast received by thy command, O Lord, for thy great mercy’s sake. Strange is the mystery of death; for unacceptably it comes to all, nature by force is spoil’d; it taketh elders, abbots, scribes, teachers who vainly strive, bishops, and pastors too. Then let us cry with tears, Him, whom thou hast receiv’d, O Lord, by thy command, O rest, for thy great mercy’s sake. He that in piety hath liv’d, and was thy decorated priest, O Christ, the celebrant and offerer of thy mysteries divine, is gone, by thy divine command, from life’s alarms to thee; and him, accepting as a priest, O Saviour, save, and with the righteous rest, even him whom thou received hast, for thy great mercy’s sake.