Homily II — No tongue can praise her worthily

There is no one among human beings who will be able to praise the holy departure of the Mother of God as it deserves, not even if he had ten thousand tongues and as many mouths; indeed, not even if all the tongues of the far-scattered peoples came together would they reach the praise that is due. For she stands above every rule of praise. But since God loves what is offered according to one's power, out of longing and zeal and a good will, and since what is dear and lovely to the Son is dear to the Mother of God, come, let us take up her praises once more. We obey your commands, O best of shepherds and most dear to God, and we call to our aid the Word who took flesh from her, who fills every mouth that opens to him, who alone is her adornment and her all-glorious praise. For we know that when we begin her praises we are paying our debt, and having paid it we begin the debt again, so that the debt always remains, always begun and always fulfilled. May she whom we hymn be gracious to us, she who is above all creatures and rules over all made things as Mother of God, the Creator and Maker and Ruler of all. And may you also forgive us, O company that loves to hear divine words: accept our goodwill, applaud our longing, and bear with the weakness of our speech. Think of the emperor, to whom the helm of his people has been entrusted by God. His table is always full and overflowing with every kind of dish; his palace is charmed by the vapours of costly perfumes. Then someone brings him, out of season, a violet the colour of the imperial purple, or a rose, the most fragrant shoot of the thorn, with green buds, opening from them in two colours and little by little coming to a lovely blush, and some fruit of late summer, sweet as honey. The emperor, judging well and understanding rightly, will look not at the cheapness of the gift but at its strangeness, and will wonder at how unusual it is, and he would reward the farmer with gifts and favours in great abundance. So too we, bringing to the Queen the flowers of words in winter, and arming an aged speech for the contests of praise, and striking our longing against the mind as flint against iron, or pressing out our story-making mind like an unripe cluster of grapes, and offering to you, lovers of words and lovers of hearing, some faint spark and dregs of speech, may we be welcomed all the more. For what shall we bring to the Mother of the Word, if not a word? Like rejoices in like, and so does a friend. Now then, let us open the starting gate of speech, or slacken the reins a little, and set it toward the course like a horse and send it off. But you yourself, Word of God, be my fellow worker and helper. Give speech to my speechless mind; make the path smooth for my speech; and direct its course toward your good pleasure, toward which every word and thought of the wise presses.