Image of Ṣabala Māryām

In the name of God, I begin, while I speak, I praise. For abundant above you, and multiplied, is his praise. The multitude of Mary, I proclaim the news of your praise, which cannot be exhausted. Hear the word of my mouth, and accept my petition. The branches of peace that are given to you, let them not be false. Peace to the memory of your name, in the news of the word of truth that is proclaimed. To the name of Mary the Virgin, who found the mystery. The multitude of Mary, tell your praise, which cannot be completed. Grant me an abundance of wisdom, and reveal to me the revelation. For the error of my heart, your thirst will quench it. Peace to your stature and to your form, each in its own measure. In the firmament of the heavens and the limit, which are arranged one by one. To the Lord of Hosts, the multitude of Mary, the ark of his son. For my soul, when it approaches the waves of the sea of error, in the direction of the south and the north, on your wings, pass over. Peace to the hair of your head, whose curls are strange. And to your head, anointed with the oil of faith, a mountain. The multitude of Mary, a serpent like a beast of the earth. And again, like a dove, a messenger of good news, a fast. On the wings of virtues, as you fly within the bird of love.

From the time the flesh departs, the multitude of Mary, your soul without sorrow. As you dwell in glory for the swift one within the heavenly city. As I have prepared for you the honorable cross of death. While they say, the apostles of Christ the son buried her. May God be blessed by the mouth of every creature. I say peace to the tomb of your pure flesh. Upon which there is the heart of the Holy Spirit. The multitude of Mary, cover me with your wings, what is it? May the flower of your virtue not wither in the heat of the sun that burns. And may the paths of the wilderness not make me thirsty. And the marvel that preserves from concealment. Peace to your tomb which is called gift. Which is the temple of the wood of salvation. Sweetness of deed more than all, the multitude of Mary the holy. Your right covenant is righteous and your prayer is abundant. May you be a guardian for us at every hour. Peace to your chosen ones, with Thomas the priest. The multitude of George, and Abib, and Theodore. These are the pure ones of noble deed. The multitude of Mary, your praise while you are consoled for every soul of ours. And for the one who wrote it, the blood of Christ, preserve it from evil.

Salām to you, Ṣabala Māryām, the ascetic. From the fruit of fragrance and the fruit of the rose. The succession of your passion in the flesh for the measure of many years. In the garden of flowers, where you have rested in peace. So that I may enter, your brothers, having prepared a welcome, O sister.