Receive the sacrifice of my words, O my Father — the lisping of a penitent child receive, O my Father!
Make straight my word with Thy truth, and receive it at the footstool of Thy feet.
Cense my sacrifice with the sweet myrrh of the saints' prayer, and cast it not away, O Three-Sunned Master of the worlds.
A more eloquent sacrifice the angelic circles offer Thee, but their word streams to them from Thee, and returns to Thee, unmingled with the foulness of darkness and not choked in the throat by sin.
I am destitute, and I have nothing else to lay upon Thine altar except these words.
O if I were to offer Thee things, I would be offering words. For what are things but words? Thou hast filled the whole universe with tongues, which are flames when they raise praise to Thee, and water — when they whisper Thy praises to themselves.
And if I were to offer Thee a lamb, I would be offering Thee a word.
And if I were to offer Thee a bird, I would be offering Thee a word.
Why should I offer another's word to my Lord — why another's and not my own?
Who made me master over another's life and another's song, another's flame and another's sacrifice — who?
My word is my life and my song, my flame and my sacrifice. From Thine own have I taken, and to Thee do I offer it — receive it and cast it not away, O Mother brimming with tenderness.
I have gathered a handful of wheat from a field of tares; receive even one grain from my handful, and Thou wilt make me happy.
From one grain Thou canst knead bread enough for the peoples.
Receive my mite, O Son and Resurrector; receive and cast not away the mite of a poor man.
Receive my sacrifice not for me but for someone who is still poorer than I — is there such a one?
For him who has not even as much as I have, receive my sacrifice — does such a one exist?
Like an accordion the world has crushed me; scarcely did I catch my breath, and I groaned. Let Thine angels give sweetness of sound to my groan, and bear it before Thee, O my Love.
I remember all the good things that Thou hast done for me throughout my life, O my unwearying Companion, and I offer Thee one gift in return from myself.
I do not offer Thee the whole of myself, for I am not worthy to be burned whole upon Thy most pure altar. That which is appointed to death and corruption I cannot offer to the Immortal One as a sacrifice.
Receive the sacrifice of my words, O Triune Bouquet of Flowers; the lisping of a newborn child receive.
When the angelic choirs begin to sing around Thy throne, when the trumpets of the archangels blare, when Thy martyrs sob for joy, despise not the sacrifice of my words, O Lord my God.
Let it not go unheard, but hear.
I pray to Thee and bow down before Thee, now and through all time, and through all Eternity. Amen.