August 17

From the Prologue

Portraying the images [faces] of the saints on wood, Olympius imitated even their good works in his own soul. He healed a man of leprosy, saw an angel of God and, in his old age, died peacefully in the Lord in the year 1114 A.D.



Patroclus, before the emperor stood erect,

Christ the God, without fear, glorified;

The emperor asked him and Patroclus says:

The wealthy, to the poor should give,

I am wealthy and you O emperor, are poor,

Wealth I possess, only you ask,

Am I poor, who rules the world,

And wealthy are you, with that cursed Faith?

Wealthy I am, Patroclus repeats,

In the fire, my wealth does not burn,

From ages to ages, my wealth is,

In heaven, my wealth awaits me.

What kind of wealth! You are in my hands!

The emperor cried out: To torture will I hand you over,

Hand me over, O emperor, Patroclus replied,

God will reward me my sufferings.

Torture the body; the body is for torture,

Into the hands of the Lord, the spirit I give.

In the Christian, the spirit is free

As in every Christian soldier;

For me, glory and victory awaits

And you O emperor, shame and misfortune,

Upon me, quickly heap tortures

So that my wreath does not fade, O emperor.

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