Nisibis 77

Of his voice In the accustomed manner, they saw the monk as if in a dream. For if the cry were harsh, Behold, it vanished like a vision. A little of his cry, The cry of the church: You, my Lord, hide it. On this very day When the chariot ceased, Come, let us see him In the world that has ceased for him. To the Lord, come, let us serve. That day which silences The mouth and does not cry out, That his fountain of words may be hidden And his utterances be obscured. By your word, let it be revealed.

That day which closed the open doors of the hour, death entered, and the deaf ones were opened by your voice. That day which pressed the beautiful eyes, the lamps and candelabra of the temple of souls, saw your light, eyes like stars. It also closed the darkness of the house you left, the dwelling of the soul, and received it with joy. That day which the hands stripped and finished, began and did not complete, and left the sins. By your power it became strong, grinding the courses, erasing the footsteps. There is no more of his journeys, for he cut off his paths, and rejoiced in your festival. That day which covered the oath that does not enter, from within it pressed her to go out, pursuing her. Pursue him with joy, his thought which is a wheel of all movements. In wonder he bound her, in silence he finished her, she is equal to your kingdom. That day which the cry within the cry is changed, instead of that of the living, the dead are wrapped. By your light it shone, the waves and bodies weighed, and they saw the good, how the waves are silent, just as your bodies are. He revived his praise, the hours arranged, one by one in its time. Thus are the arranged, the sacrifices to the Lord of all, praise to the establisher of all. It is the hour which struck, not the first of the six. Thus do not seek.

Sacrifices before sacrifices. Blessed is He who arranges all. Beautiful again is the signet. Months for the order, and not before the month, for the months in the middle. Blessed is He in His orders. Confused is she who does not begin. A sign was before, and confused is she who says, “Where is the seal?” Blessed is He who orders all. Confused is she who does not sow. Harvest was before, and now, because of death, the seal precedes the seal. Glory to the farmer, for he completes and brings forth the seed of the future, and he takes the sacrifice of the watchers to go out to the harvest. Glory to the sower. Beautiful indeed is the one who guides, the begetter before death, and beautiful is she who, because of death, seals the seal. Glory to the knower of all. Here ends the collection of madrāšê of the Confessors of the blessed Mār Ephrem, which are in the middle, seventy-seven. Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and at all times and forever and ever. Amen.