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Мл҃тва ст҃а́гѡ сѷмеѡ́на метафра́ста, г҃

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Да́вый пи́щꙋ мнѣ̀ пло́ть твою̀ во́лею, ѻ҆́гнь сы́й и҆ ѡ҆палѧ́ѧй недостѡ́йныѧ, да не ѡ҆пали́ши менє̀, содѣ́телю мо́й: па́че же пройдѝ во ѹ҆́ды моѧ̑, во всѧ̑ соста́вы, во ѹ҆тро́бꙋ, въ се́рдце. Попалѝ те́рнїе всѣ́хъ мои́хъ прегрѣше́нїй. Дꙋ́шꙋ ѡ҆чи́сти, ѡ҆ст҃ѝ помышлє́нїѧ. Соста́вы ѹ҆твердѝ съ костьмѝ вкꙋ́пѣ. Чꙋ́вствъ просвѣтѝ простꙋ́ю пѧтери́цꙋ. Всего̀ мѧ̀ спригвоздѝ стра́хꙋ твоемꙋ̀. При́снѡ покры́й, соблюди́ же, и҆ сохрани́ мѧ ѿ всѧ́кагѡ дѣ́ла и҆ сло́ва дꙋшетлѣ́ннагѡ. Ѡ҆чи́сти, и҆ ѡ҆мы́й, и҆ ѹ҆краси́ мѧ: ѹ҆добрѝ, вразꙋмѝ, и҆ просвѣти́ мѧ. Покажи́ мѧ твоѐ селе́нїе є҆ди́нагѡ д¦а, и҆ не ктомꙋ̀ селе́нїе грѣха̀. Да ꙗ҆́кѡ твоегѡ̀ до́мꙋ вхо́домъ причаще́нїѧ, ꙗ҆́кѡ ѻ҆гнѧ̀ менє̀ бѣжи́тъ всѧ́къ ѕлодѣ́й, всѧ́ка стра́сть. Мл҃твенники тебѣ̀ приношꙋ̀ всѧ̑ ст҃ы̑ѧ, чинонача̑лїѧ же безпло́тныхъ, п®те́чꙋ твоего̀, премꙋ̑дрыѧ а҆пⷭ҇лы, къ си̑мъ же твою̀ нескве́рнꙋю чⷭ҇тꙋю мт҃рь: и҆́хже мольбы̑, бл҃гоꙋтро́бне, прїимѝ хрⷭ҇тѐ мо́й, и҆ сы́номъ свѣ́та содѣ́лай твоего̀ слꙋжи́телѧ. Ты́ бо є҆сѝ ѡ҆сщ҃е́нїе, и҆ є҆ди́ный на́шихъ бл҃же дꙋ́шъ и҆ свѣ́тлость: и҆ тебѣ̀ лѣпоподо́бнѡ ꙗ҆́кѡ бг҃ꙋ и҆ влⷣцѣ сла́вꙋ всѝ возсыла́емъ на всѧ́къ де́нь.
Grant me, O Lord, Thy flesh according to Thine will; and let not the fire that burneth unworthily fall upon me, my helper: rather go into my sorrows, into all my compositions, into my belly, into my heart. Let the thorns of all my transgressions pierce thee. Purify my soul, cleanse my thoughts. Harden thy compositions with bones together. Enlighten me with a simple five-fingered hand. With fear of Thy dread, fasten me wholly. Ever cover me, keep me, and preserve me from every work and word of the fleshly life. Cleanse me, wash me, adorn me: approve me, enlighten me, and make me clear. Show me Thy one moon in all places, and let not any other moon of sin appear. That I may enter into Thy house by the entrance of Thy partaking, that as the fire fleeth from every sweet thing, so every passion flee from me. The monks offer to Thee all the saints, the chief of the bodiless ones, wise apostles, and with them Thy undefiled reading: their prayers, O gracious, receive mine, and make my servant a son of light. For Thou art the effulgence, and the only brightness of our souls and light: and unto Thee we send forth glory on every day.

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