Farewell, my Anastasia, whose very name speaks of the true faith. You raised up the teaching for us when it was still despised. Farewell, place of our common victory, new Shiloh, where we first pitched the tabernacle after it had wandered through the wilderness for forty years.
Farewell also to you, this great and renowned church, our new inheritance. You have now received your greatness from the Word. Once you were Jebus; we have made you Jerusalem. Farewell too to all you other churches that come next after it in beauty, each occupying a different part of the city. Like links in a chain, you join the neighboring districts together. In spite of this weakness, it was not we but the grace that worked with us that filled you with people once given up as lost.
Farewell, Apostles, noble settlement, my teachers in the contest. I did not often celebrate with you. Perhaps that was because I carried in my body the “Satan” of your Paul for my benefit—the same thing that now makes me leave you.
Farewell, my episcopal seat, this envied and dangerous height. Farewell, assembly of bishops, honored by priests venerable for their dignity and age. Farewell, all you other ministers of God around the holy table, drawing near to God as He draws near to you.
Farewell, choirs of Nazirites and harmonies of psalmody; all-night vigils; the dignity of virgins and the good order of women; gatherings of widows and orphans; and the eyes of the poor looking toward God and toward us. Farewell, hospitable and Christ-loving homes, supporters of my weakness.
Farewell, lovers of my words: your rushing together, your crowded gatherings, the pens seen and unseen, and this railing strained by those pushing forward to hear the word.
Farewell, emperors and palace, and all who serve the emperor and belong to his household. Whether they are faithful to the emperor, I do not know; for the most part they are unfaithful to God.
Clap your hands. Shout aloud. Lift your orator high. This troublesome and talkative tongue of mine has fallen silent for you. Yet it will not be completely silent: it will go on fighting with hand and ink. But for the present, we have fallen silent.