Letter 339: Theodore Studite, Letter 339; Greek heading: Πρεσβυτέρθῳ.

In winter, if anyone should catch sight of a rose, he would naturally run toward it, since it is a strange thing to behold, and he gives thanks to the one who pointed it out to him. Such are you, O sacred man of God: in the winter of unbelief you became known to us, and the one who pointed you out to us, the living and orthodox rose, was the letter-bearer, my beloved son. I beheld you not with the senses, but with the contemplation of the mind; and I ran to you not on foot, but by letters; and I smelled your fragrance not with the nostrils, but with the spirit; and most sweet to me was that scent, or rather to the Lord. May He also preserve you unplucked from heretical hands, so that you may be found in the spiritual springtime, when the bitter frost of this present world has been ridden past, woven into the garland of His glory. Bestow upon us that which is the most beautiful of all you possess: your sacred prayers.