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I see it contained in my heart. But what is this strange mercy of Yours, my Christ, what is Your infinite condescension, O Word? Why have You come to my poverty, how did You enter into a defiled house, You who dwell in unapproachable light, my God? And how do you keep it unconsumed, You who are a fire unbearable to mortal nature? What shall I do worthy of Your glory and what shall I find for so great a love? What shall I offer to You, who have glorified me, the unworthy one, with such glory and honor? For the one whom men deign not to see, nor to speak with nor to dine at all with me, the all-wretched one, You who nourish every breath and nature, (140) who are unapproachable to the Seraphim, the creator of all, maker and master, not only do You see and speak to me and nourish me, but You have even deemed me worthy to hold and to eat Your own flesh in its very substance and to drink Your all-holy blood, which was shed for me when You were slain. And You have appointed me a deacon and minister and initiate of these things, me whom You know, You who know all things, before You made the ages and before You brought forth any of the unseen things - for the visible things You established later , the sinner, the profligate, the publican, the robber, the one who has become my own murderer, a liar concerning good things, a worker of iniquity and a transgressor of all Your commandments. You therefore know these things to be true; how shall I appear before You, O my Christ, and how shall I approach Your table? How shall I hold Your undefiled body, I who have hands everywhere defiled? How shall I hymn You, how shall I intercede for others having not from faith and good works love and boldness toward You, but being myself a debtor, as You know, of many talents, of many iniquities? The mind is at a loss, the tongue has grown weak and no word is found for me, O Savior, to declare Your works of goodness, which You have done for me, Your servant. (141) For my inward parts are on fire as from a flame and I am unable to bear it in silence

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συνεχόμενον ἐν καρδίᾳ μου βλέπω. Ἀλλά τί σου, Χριστέ μου, τό ξένον τοῦ ἐλέους, τίς ἡ ἄπειρος συγκατάβασις, Λόγε; Τί πρός τήν ἐμήν ἐλήθυθας πτωχείαν, πῶς καί εἰσῆλθες εἰς ῥυπῶσαν οἰκίαν, ὁ ἀπροσίτῳ οἰκῶν φωτί, Θεέ μου; Πῶς δέ καί τηρεῖς ἀκατάφλεκτον ταύτην, πῦρ ὑπάρχων ἄστεκτον φύσει βροτείᾳ; Τί δέ ποιήσω ἄξιόν σου τῆς δόξης καί τί εὑρήσω πρός τοσαύτην ἀγάπην; Τί σοι προσάξω, τῷ τοιαύτῃ με δόξῃ καί τιμῇ δοξάσαντι, τόν ἀνάξιον; Ὅν γάρ ἄνθρωποι βλέπειν ἀπαξιοῦσιν, ἀλλ᾿ οὐδέ λαλεῖν οὐδέ συνεστιᾶσθαι ὅλως ἐμοί βούλονται τῷ παναθλίῳ, σύ ὁ πνοήν ἅπασαν τρέφων καί φύσιν, (140) ὁ τοῖς Σεραφείμ ἀπρόσιτος ὑπάρχων, ὁ πάντων κτίστης, ποιητής καί δεσπότης οὐ μόνον ὁρᾷς καί λαλεῖς μοι καί τρέφεις, ἀλλά καί τήν σήν οὐσιωδῶς μοι σάρκα κατηξίωσας καί κρατεῖν καί ἐσθίειν καί τό αἷμά σου τό πανάγιον πίνειν, ὅ ἐξεχύθη δι᾿ ἐμέ σοῦ σφαγέντος. ∆ιάκονόν τε καί λειτουργόν καί μύστην τούτων με κατέστησας, ὅνπερ γινώσκεις, ὁ πάντα εἰδώς, πρίν ποιήσεις αἰῶνας καί πρίν παράξεις τι τῶν μή βλεπομένων - τά γάρ ὁρατά ὕστερον συνεστήσω , τόν ἁμαρτωλόν, ἄσωτον, τόν τελώνην, λῃστήν, φονέα ἐμαυτοῦ γεγονότα, ψεύστην τῶν καλῶν, ἐργάτην ἀνομίας καί πασῶν τῶν σῶν ἐντολῶν παραβάτην. Σύ οὖν ἀληθῆ ταῦτα εἶναι γινώσκεις˙ πῶς ἐνώπιον ὀφθῶ σου, ὦ Χριστέ μου, πῶς δέ τῇ σῇ πλησιάσω τραπέζῃ; Πῶς τοῦ ἀχράντου σώματός σου κρατήσω, ὁ χεῖρας ἔχων πάντῃ ἐσπιλωμένας; Πῶς ὑμνήσω σε, πῶς ἄλλοις μεσιτεύσω μή ἔχων ἐκ πίστεως καί καλῶν ἔργων τήν πρός σέ ἀγάπησιν καί παρρησίαν, ἀλλ᾿ ὑπόχρεως αὐτός ὤν, ὥσπερ οἶδας, πολλῶν ταλάντων, πολλῶν ἀνομημάτων; Ὁ νοῦς ἀπορεῖ, ἠσθένησεν ἡ γλῶσσα καί λόγος οὐδείς εὑρίσκεταί μοι, Σῶτερ, τά σά ἐξειπεῖν ἀγαθότητος ἔργα, ἅ ἐποίησας εἰς ἐμέ τόν σόν δοῦλον. (141) Φλέγονται δέ μου ὡς ἐκ πυρός τά ἔνδον καί οὐ δύναμαι σιωπῶν ὑποφέρειν