Prayers to the Most Holy Theotokos in front of Her icon, called “Sovereign”
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Prayer book / Prayers to the Mother of God
First prayer
Oh, Sovereign Lady, Most Holy Theotokos, holding in Her arms the Heavenly King who contains the entire universe! We thank Thee for Thy ineffable mercy, for Thou didst deign to show us, sinners and unworthy, this holy and miraculous icon of Thy in these evil and cruel days, like a whirlwind, like an internal storm that came upon our country, in the days of our humiliation and reproach, in the days devastation and desecration of our holy things from crazy people, who boldly say not only in their hearts, but also in their mouths: there is no God: and in deeds they show this godlessness. We thank Thee, Intercessor, for Thou hast looked down from Thy holy height upon our sorrow and the grief of us Orthodox, and as the bright sun has cheered our eyes, exhausted from sorrow, with the sweet sight of Thy Sovereign image. Oh, Most Blessed Mother of God, Sovereign Helper, Strong Intercessor! Thanking Thee with fear and trembling, as slaves of indecency, we fall down to Thee with tenderness, with contrition of heart and with tears, and we pray to Thee and lamentably cry out to Thee: save us, save us! Help us, help us! Struggling: we are dying! Behold, our belly is approaching hell: behold, many sins have befallen us, many troubles, many enemies. Oh, Heavenly Queen! With the scepter of Thy Divine power, dispel, like dust, like smoke, the unclean machinations of our enemies, visible and invisible: crush their lofty thoughts and forbid them: and like the Mother of all, guide them on the right and godly path. Root truth, peace and joy about the Holy Spirit into the hearts of all of us: establish silence, prosperity, serenity, unfeigned love for each other in our country. With Your omnipotent power, O Most Pure One, restrain the streams of lawlessness that want to drown the Russian Land in their terrible abyss. Support us, weak, faint-hearted, infirm and despondent, strengthen, uplift and save us: as we always keep under Your Power, we sing and magnify Your Most Honorable and Magnificent Name, now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.
Second prayer
O Intercessor of the world, Mother of All Singing! With fear, faith and love, bowing down before Your honorable Sovereign icon, we fervently pray to You: do not turn Your face away from those who come running to You. Pray, merciful Mother of Light, Thy Son and our God, the Sweetest Lord Jesus Christ, may he preserve our country in peace, may he establish our state in prosperity and deliver us from internecine warfare, may he strengthen our holy Orthodox Church and preserve it unshakably from unbelief , schism and heresies. The imams have no other help than You, Most Pure Virgin: You are the all-powerful Intercessor of Christians before God, softening His righteous anger. Deliver all who pray to You with faith from the falls of sin, from the slander of evil people, from hunger, sorrow and disease. Grant us the spirit of contrition, humility of heart, purity of thoughts, correction of sinful lives and forgiveness of our sins; Yes, everyone, we are grateful to sing of Your greatness, let us be worthy of the Heavenly Kingdom and there, with all the saints, let us glorify the most honorable and magnificent name in the Trinity of the glorified God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Prayers to the Mother of God
The image of the Mother of God and prayers to her in Russian poetry
To the Heavenly Intercessor
The Intercessor of the World, the All-Singing Mother, I am before You with a prayer: Cover the poor sinner, dressed in darkness, with grace. If trials befall me, Sorrows, losses, enemies, - In a difficult hour of life, in a moment of suffering, I pray you, help me. Place spiritual joy, a thirst for salvation in my heart; Show me the straight path to the Kingdom of Heaven, to the world of consolation.
Yu. V. Zhadovskaya (1824-1883)
Prayer
The Intercessor of the World, the all-sung Mother, I am before You with a prayer: Cover the poor sinner, dressed in darkness, with grace. If trials befall me, Sorrows, losses, enemies, - In a difficult hour of life, in a moment of suffering, I pray you, help me. Place spiritual joy, a thirst for salvation in my heart; Show me the straight path to the kingdom of heaven, to the world of consolation.
Yu. V. Zhadovskaya (1824-1883)
Holy Virgin! In front of you...
Holy Virgin! I stand before You with an ardent prayer... You have been given good power to remove misfortune from mortals, to heal ailments - for myself, I should ask You: I am so dark, I am so sinful, Full of earthly passions and thoughts; But in this quiet, sweet moment, - When the rush of sins has subsided, - I am not shedding tears for myself, I am not praying for you: I have one sick person, With an anxious, proud soul, He has been tormented by a painful and evil illness for a long, long time ... Holy Virgin! Heal the Sufferer of the poor earth! Send joy and peace to the exhausted, sick soul... Preserve it from death, And with the grace of autumn!
Yu. V. Zhadovskaya (1824-1883)
About the author. The fate of the poetess Yulia Zhadovskaya (1824-1883) was tragic. She was born without a left hand, with three fingers on her short right hand, and with poor eyesight. But physical disabilities could not spoil her beautiful soul, despite the fact that many new challenges awaited her in life.
The amazing Russian woman did not break and continued to give her love to those around her. Prose and poetry of Yulia Zhadovskaya as a confession of a woman’s soul. Many of her works are imbued with deep religiosity and a thirst for heavenly, sinless life.
To You, O Most Holy Mother
To You, O Most Holy Mother, I dare to raise my voice, Washing my face with tears: Hear me in this sorrowful hour.
Accept my warmest prayers, Deliver my spirit from troubles and evils, Shed tenderness in my heart, Guide me on the path of salvation.
Let me be a stranger to my own will, I am ready to endure everything for God, May I be protected in a bitter fate, Do not let me die in sadness.
You are the refuge of all the unfortunate, You are the prayer book for us all; Oh, protect us when we hear God’s terrible voice of judgment.
When time closes eternity, the voice of the trumpet will resurrect the dead, and the book of conscience will expose the entire burden of my sins.
You are a protection and hedge for the faithful; I pray to You with all my soul: Save me, my joy, Have mercy on me!
N.V. Gogol
To the Mother of God
I, Mother of God, now pray before Your image, with a bright radiance, Not about salvation, not before battle, Not with gratitude or repentance,
I do not pray for my deserted soul, For the soul of a wanderer in a rootless light, But I want to hand over an innocent maiden to the Warm Intercessor of the cold world.
Surround someone worthy of happiness with happiness, Give her companions full of attention, Bright youth, calm old age, Peace of hope for a kind heart.
Will the time approach the farewell hour, Whether on a noisy morning, or on a silent night, You have gone to the sad bed to receive the Best angel - a beautiful soul.
M. Yu. Lermontov 1837
The Virgin Mary's journey through torment
The Most Pure One ascended a high mountain, The Pure One saw Michael the Archangel, The Most Pure One said to Michael the Archangel: You are the bright and bright Michael the Archangel, Bring me to see all the torment of humans, How sinners who did not know God suffer, who have forgotten Christ, who have done evil. Michael the Archangel led the Most Pure One through all her torments, through the torments of martyrdom: into fiery Gehenna, into pitch darkness, into never-ending fire, into a river of fire. What is the torment in the north and in the south, in the east of the sun and in the west. The Pure One saw all human torment, How sinners who did not know God suffer, who forgot Christ, who did evil: Princes, priests and worldly children, How they did not go to church, Did not read Eves, did not hear Holy books, Waked up Matins, Drank Vespers, Fornicated with godfathers , Beggars were driven away, Strangers were not accepted, Drunkards, grain farmers, Buffoons, lazy priests, Unmerciful, unmerciful, All the dashing, stingy Deeds they did. As the Pure One saw all human torments, she burst into tears, sobbed, and said to sinners: You poor, poor sinners, You poor, unfortunate ones, It would have been better for you not to have been born. You are the bright, most luminous Michael Archangel, Cast me into fiery Gehenna: I want to suffer With the sinful children of God. The Archangel said to the Most Pure Michael: Lady Theotokos, my Most Blessed Lady! Your work rests in heaven, And sinners boil in hell. Better yet, ask Your Son, Jesus Christ the Only Begotten, that He may have mercy on sinners. The Lord did not listen to the Mother of God, He did not have mercy on the sinners, And again the Most Pure One prayed: Where are you, prophets, apostles, Where are you, Moses the God-seer, Daniel with three youths, Ivan the Theologian, Christ's lover, Where are you, St. Nicholas the Pleasant, Friday, Christian beauty? May He have mercy on sinners! The Lord did not listen to the Mother of God, He did not have mercy on the sinners, And the Most Pure One cried out for the third time: Where are you, the power of heaven: Angels and archangels, Cherubim and seraphim, Where are you, Archangel Michael, Archangel of the heavens? Fall down before the Lord, May He have mercy on sinners! And all the holy angels fell, Prophets, Apostles, Ivan the Theologian, Christ’s lover, Friday, Christian beauty, - And the heights of heaven groaned From their crying - sobbing. And the Merciful Lord heard them, and He took pity on the sinners: He gave them peace and joy from Maundy Thursday to Holy Pentecost.
Mikhail Kuzmin
Madonna I stand before the image of the Madonna. It was written by a holy monk, an ancient master, not a scientist: timidity is visible in him, the style is dry. But the timidity of the brush will only deepen the Greatness of the Virgin: she so sympathizes with you, loves you so much, is full of such goodness, that you believe, as legend says, before the holy artist the Most Pure One appeared in radiance, visible only to him... Exhausted by spiritual feats, exhausted by severe fasting, not Once on the church platform He was raised by the monks, And called to life by their prayers, Still afraid to open his eyes, He moved his brothers apart with his hands And walked to the canvas, praying with his soul. He took up his brush, and in emotion he depicted with his brush what he kept in memory from the heavenly vision. And quiet tears rolled along his pale cheeks... And, the fear melting, the monks around him prayed and cried, as I cry...
Apollo Maykov 1859
Praise to Our Lady
The mystery of mysteries is incomprehensible, the depth of the depths is boundless, the height is unclimbed! The joy of earthly joy, Invincible triumph. Angelically carried over the native land, the burning bush!
The most honest of all Cherubim, Without comparison, the most glorious of the Fiery Seraphim, The purest Purgatory! Lady of the All-Immaculate One who gave birth to God without decay, the never-setting star, Rejoice, O blessed one! You are prayers, dewy moisture, life-giving water!
Guarded by angels, The unfading color of the earth, The dust dissolved with radiance, The clay calcined by virginity, The flesh born to shine, The creature exalted to God, The ever-virgin mother!
You are the cover of created nature, Light in the darkness, an early flame, a guiding pillar! In a terrible hour, when a trumpet will blow above us Over the forgotten tombs, In the great hour, in the hour of retribution, In the bitter hour, when the constellations will fall from the sky, And the earth between the worlds, Erupting with flames, Will appear for Judgment, In the hour when all flesh awakens , The womb of death will tremble (the Sun will turn into darkness) And like a book the Sky will unfold in two, And the abyss will open up, And the voice of the Son will be heard:
“Oh, stubborn tribe! I knocked - you didn’t open, I was thirsty - you didn’t give me something to drink, I was hungry - you didn’t feed me, I was naked - you didn’t clothe me...”
And then you will answer: “I dressed, I fed, I dissolved the loins of God, I covered the poor spirit with flesh, I sheltered the Sun of the world in the belly of darkness...”
At the last hour in pitch darkness, Over your sinful land, You will spread a blanket: Above all who are on the right hand, Who stand in glory on the right hand of the Lamb, So that not a single lump of clay pierced by the spirit will perish, Without removal forever, And you will keep the hand of the Son from the last curses of the Irrevocable Judgment.
Maximilian Voloshin Koktebel, November 27, 1919
Our Lady of Vladimir
Not on the throne - on Her hand, With her left arm hugging her neck, - Eye to eye, cheek to cheek, Relentlessly demanding... Numb - No strength, no words on the tongue... And She is in anxiety and sadness Through the swell of the future she looks into the world glowing distances, where the sunset is surrounded by fires. And such mournful emotion In the pure girlish features that the Face in the flame of prayer every moment, As if alive, changes expression. Who opened up the lakes of these eyes? Not Saint Luke the icon painter, Not the dark god of Pechersk: In the hot furnaces of Byzantium In the evil days of the persecution of icons, Her Face from the fiery element Was embodied in earthly colors. But of all the high revelations Revealed by art, he alone survived the fire of self-immolation Among the rubble and ruins. From mosaics, gold, tombstones, From everything that that century boasted of, - You went along the waters of blue rivers To Kyiv of princely civil strife. And since then, in the hours of people's troubles, Your image, elevated above Russia, showed us the trail in the darkness of centuries, and in the dungeon - a hidden exit. You admonished the Warriors before the end in the sparkling Liturgy... The terrible history of Russia All passed before Your face. Wasn’t Batu, knowing the pogrom, the Steppe on fire and the devastation of the villages - You, having left the doomed Kyiv, took away the Grand Duke’s table? And she went with Andrei to Bogolyubov, into the wilderness and wilderness of the Vladimir forests, into the cramped world of dry pine logs, under the tented domes. And when Khromets-Iron put the Oka region to the sword and ruined it, Who did not give him passage to Moscow and entered the road to Rus'? From forests, deserts and coasts Everyone came to You to pray for Rus': Guards of the heroic frontiers... Tenacious collectors of the earth... Here in Uspensky - in the heart of the Kremlin walls, Touched by Your tender appearance, How many cruel and harsh eyes Wetted with a bright tear! The elders and monks prostrated themselves, The smoky altars shone, the meek queens lay prostrate, the gloomy kings bowed... With the Black Death and the bloody battle, the veil of the Maidens was hallowed, Which was illuminated by the centuries-long prayer of All Rus'. But the blind people, in a time of wrath, gave away the keys of their strongholds, and the Virgin Representative left her desecrated shrines. And when the kumash platforms raised a cry in front of the churches, - From under the vestments and pious scabs You revealed your true Face. The bright Face of Wisdom-Sophia, Hardened in stingy Moscow, And in the future - the Face of Russia itself - Despite slander and rumor. The Ancient Kremlin does not tremble from the bronze hum, and the flowers do not bloom: There is no more dazzling miracle in the world than the Revelation of eternal Beauty!
M. Voloshin May 26, 1929
Voloshin Maximilian Aleksandrovich (1877-1932) – poet, watercolor artist, art and literary critic. A witness to the sorrowful years of Russia, he managed, in the midst of bloody civil strife (civil war), to save many compatriots doomed to death. Voloshin’s poetry is a synthesis of the tragic experience of events and a deep understanding of the historical destinies of Russia. The poem “Our Lady of Vladimir” is dedicated to A.I. Anisimov, with whom the poet had long-standing friendly relations. Alexander Ivanovich Anisimov (1877-1937) - author of the book “The Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God”, published at the Russian Scientific Center in Prague, which was the beginning of the persecution and persecution of Alexander Ivanovich, his arrest, exile to Solovki in 1930 and death sentence - in 1937
Crown of Our Lady
Rejoice, O Lady, merciful intercessor for us before God! Akathist to the Mother of God
In those days, exhausted by suffering, exhausted by the burden of adversity, the suffering Orthodox people flocked to the Mother of God with hope. And crowding around the miraculous canopy, he bowed to his knees before the Intercessor, a stranger to the world and its worries.
From distant wilds and villages, he carried to Her with a holey bag the quiet whisper of fiery prayers, the cry of a soul tormented by fate, the pain of age-old suffering, inaccessible to wise healing, unbearable for human weakness.
And before this submissive meekness, Touching the heavens with faith, Unprecedented miracles in the world were performed with miraculous power - From the abyss of earthly arbitrariness Uncomplicated, simple voices reached the Eternal throne.
Healed by unchanging love, Falling prostrate in tenderness, the pilgrims clothed the Queen of all Queens with a precious robe. And the priceless and radiant crown on the forehead of the Most Pure Lady shone more brilliantly than lightning.
Centuries passed. Generations have changed. The enemy confused the restless people, But the fervent prayers did not remain silent. The faith of the past days did not weaken. The dark people wandered along the dead paths, bent with sorrow and entreaties, Under the cover of their Protector.
The years passed. Demonic efforts Once again promised a fierce, mortal battle. And the royal wings bowed before the turmoil, anger and enmity. Monomakh's sovereign crown rolled down the steps of the throne, torn off by the enemy's hand.
But the enemy, it seemed, was not satisfied with the humiliation of the White Tsar. The red serpent, raising its sting boldly, moved the mob to the shrines of the altar, and the crown from the miraculous icon was removed by the impudent thief with a shameful mockery, creating a terrible dishonor.
The die is cast - impostors, thieves, As once upon a time at the Cross, Forgetting selfish strife, They divide the robes of the Mother of Christ. Having committed open sacrilege, In the evil blind fury of gloating, their insolent lips blaspheme.
Before the eyes of a silent people, a terrible sin was committed before God. A bloody feast celebrates freedom On a gloomy day of sad funeral. Brother of Judas with a bold heart Sells jewelry from robbed icons to foreign merchants.
Generating the joys of delight, a merchant who has stayed overseas sells at public auction the stolen crown from the Mother of God. And the cocotte who came out of the bar, The fashionable lion of the Parisian boulevard Buys stones for rings.
The ball is thundering. Dressed harlots rush in a whirlwind of a circular dance, In their dresses, like the lights of lightning, Tears-stones sparkle with play. The sacred gift of a suffering brother is thrown into a victim of an orgy of debauchery by the devil's unscrupulous hand.
And in the wilderness, distant and rebellious, Where a crucified man grieves, the Mother of God with boundless kindness Looks mournfully at the bloody age. And under the howling of demons and threats, the tears of the poor, the orphaned, the sick and the crippled burn before Her like pearls.
Sergei Bekhteev Kingdom of S. X. S. (Serbia), 1922
About the author. The entire life of S. Bekhteev (1879-1954) was permeated with the Orthodox faith, the foundations of which were laid in childhood. The love of poetry, patriotism, and commitment to the monarchy were instilled in him at the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum. These ideas left their mark on all of his work. It was faith in God that helped Sergei Bekhteev withstand all the hardships of life. Surviving the First World War despite being wounded in the head. Not to die in civilian life, not to break when he had to leave Russia. Already there, abroad, at one time Sergei Bekhteev worked as a church warden in the Church of the “Sovereign Mother of God” in Nice. Thanks to his material support and work, two iconostases were erected in the churches of the Sovereign Mother of God and St. Seraphim of Sarov. The poem “The Crown of Our Lady” was first published in No. 304 of the newspaper “New Time” (Sunday, April 30, 1922), published in Belgrade by M. A. Suvorin with the following note from me: “These days, my friends received a letter from Moscow 01 March 25 of this year, informing them about the new legalized sacrilege of the Bolsheviks over the miraculous icon of the Iveron Mother of God, from which the robbers removed the ancient robe with all the precious stones on it.”
* * * I see the roses of the Mother of God In the illumination of an unearthly day, I, the unclean one, have the opportunity to Breathe from the eternal spring. In the sweet wind, the forehead and hair, And the washed eyes shine, Somewhere the sounds of secret and forgotten voices are splashing. My spirit drinks greedily from eternity, My weightless body melts. From now on I will not live in carelessness, I will turn my face THERE.
Alexander Solodovnikov 1919-1921
* * * Pure Virgin Mary You are the saddener of all sinners, Send me not the wisdom of the serpent, But the childish talent of simplicity.
Alexander Solodovnikov 1919 - 1921
Image of "All Who Sorrow"
You are joy to those who mourn, Because you have experienced the light of sorrows. You don’t turn away the cup of poison, But you say: “Drink boldly!” You place a caressing hand on your head, Good Mother, and on the healing torment you go and accompany us.
1930s Alexander Solodovnikov
Unexpected Joy Dedicated to the Temple of Elijah the Ordinary in Moscow
When we do not anticipate joy, We are immersed in blind sorrow, Then we meet Her quiet gaze And hear the voice: “Saved!” Just trust without looking back, Even if the lights go out everywhere, Who knows? After all, there may be a different fire in its infancy now. The fire of the lamp will glow, And the heart will burn in it, Then, in need and shortages, You will still be a rich man. You will understand: drink simple water in a humble forest spring And, as if in Cana of Galilee, the water will turn out to be wine. And everything ordinary secretly appears extraordinary, Everything shines with unexpected joy And blossoms like a white apple tree.
Alexander Solodovnikov
* * * Oh, Most Pure Mother of God, do not reject me as worthless, having grieved my dear Mother, darkening the light of Motherhood, a callous Son, a beggar at heart.
If my mother feels sorry for You, Everything is torn and sad, If her hidden tears burn, Unforgotten sorrows - Then help her to forgive me.
Alexander Solodovnikov July 24, 1961 Holly's Day
Image of the Passionate Mother of God
He does not take his eyes off the instruments of torture - Your Baby of his destiny And, as if demanding protection, he grabs his Mother with his hand.
But You, humbled by grace, And believing in God’s righteousness, Carry the Baby irrevocably Towards torture and the Cross.
Alexander Solodovnikov 1960s
Ave Maria
“Ave Maria!..” The lamp is quiet.. Four verses are ready in the heart:
“Pure Virgin, Mother of Sorrows, Your grace has penetrated my soul. Queen of Heaven, not in the brilliance of rays, - In a quiet dream, appear to her!”
“Ave Maria!..” The lamp is quiet... I whispered all four verses.
Afanasy Fet 1842
When sending Raphael's Madonna
In hours of heavy thoughts, in times of disbelief, When we find life boring and empty And our spirit weakens under the burden of doubt, We need a model of saintly patience.
And if those hours of sadness are inevitable and you are destined to experience them in the future, perhaps this Face, calm, serene, will then return both peace and grace to you!
You will regain all the power of hope, And your lips will utter a warm prayer, When Raphael’s creation appears to you, the Pure Madonna, who embraced Christ!
Faith in Her did not fade and her heart did not murmur, But her thought was always directed towards heaven; Oh, be you too - no matter what awaits you - Filled with love and faith, like Her!
Don't let mental anxiety bother you; May you not lose, in the midst of life’s evil, just as the Holy Mother of God did not lose your hearts of purity and clarity of brow.
Alexey Pleshcheev 1853
Madonna by Raphael
Bowing to the young Christ, Mary overshadowed Him, Heavenly Love eclipsed Her earthly beauty. And He, in deep insight, already entering into battle with the world, looks forward - and with a clear eye sees Golgotha before Him.
Alexey K. Tolstoy 1860s
To the Sistine Madonna
Behold Her Son, He, the mystery of Jehovah, We cherish the Virgin with clean hands. At Her feet there is earth under the clouds, In the air there are imperishable covers. And, bowing down, we are ready to pray to Her on our knees with Varvara, Or, like Sixtus, with blessed eyes to meet the One who overthrew the shackles of slavery. Like angels, infants inspired by wings, You will also see us, O Virgin, not embarrassed: Here anxiety fades away before You. Such to You, Raphael, the messenger of God, Your wonderful dream revealed to You and to us the Queen of Wives - the Queen of Heaven!
Afanasy Fet 1864
