Hope made the choirs of martyrs strong, and flam’d them ardently towards thy love, prefiguring unto those to come a rest in verity undisturb’d; and unto this, O Blessed One, may thy departed faithful one be counted worthy to attain. Of thine illumination, Christ, which bright and godlike is, be pleas’d that he, departed hence in faith, may share, to him, as being merciful, in Abraham’s bosom giving rest, and granting him eternal blessedness. _Glory._ O thou that art by nature good and loving-kind, and mercy willest, and a depth of loving-kindness art, his lot, whom, Saviour, thou from this ill place removed hast, and from the shades of death, appoint where shines thy light. _Both now. Theotokion._ A holy tabernacle thee we own to be, O Pure, an ark likewise, and breastplate of the law and grace; for pardon is bestow’d, through thee, on them, All-undefil’d, that have, by his blood justified been, who of thy womb incarnate was. _Deacon._ Again and again in peace let us pray to the Lord. _Vide page 142._ _We begin the idiomela of John the monk._ _Tone i._ What sweet of life abideth unaccompanied with grief? what glory stayeth upon earth unchang’d? All is the feeblest shade, all the most cheating dream: one moment, and death taketh all these things. But in thy face’s light, O Christ, and in the sweetness of thy beauty, grant rest to him whom thou hast call’d, as lover of mankind. _Tone ii._ Woe unto me, what agony hath the soul when it is from the body torn! alas, then how it weeps, and none is merciful to it! To Angels lifting eyes, without effect it prays; to men extending hands, it findeth none to help. Therefore, my brethren lov’d, musing on our brief life, let us for the departed ask for rest from Christ, and for great mercy for our souls. _Tone iii._ All human things are vanity which last not after death: riches abide not, nor doth glory stay; for when death cometh, these all disappear. Then let us cry to the immortal Christ, O rest him who is gone away from us where is the dwelling-place of all that joy. _Tone iv._ Where is the predilection of the world? where their imaginings who fade? where is the silver and the gold? where servants’ multitude and noise? All dust, all ashes, all a shade. But, come ye, let us say to the immortal King, O Lord, him, who hath been remov’d from us, of thine eternal blessings worthy count, him resting in thine ageless happiness. _Tone v._ I remember’d what the prophet said, I am earth, and I am dust; and again I meditated in the graves, and saw the naked bones, and said, Who now is king, or warrior who, or who is rich, or who is poor, or who the just, or he that sinn’d? But, with the just, thy servant rest, O Lord. _Tone vi._