O Lord, the woman who had fallen into many sins perceived thy divinity and received the rank of the ointment-bearing women; and with mourning she brought myrrh to thee before thy burial. She said: “Woe is me, for I am surrounded with a gloomy and moonless night, full of lustful passion. Accept the fountains of my tears, for thou gatherest into clouds the water of the sea. Incline to the groaning of my heart, for in thine inexpressible self-abasement thou hast bowed the heavens. I will kiss thy most pure feet and wipe them with the locks of my hair, those feet whose sound Eve heard at dusk in Paradise, and hid herself in fear. Who can search out the multitude of my sins and the depth of thy judgments, O Savior of my soul? In thy boundless mercy despise me not, thy handmaid.”
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