Wilt thou at fifty still pursue childhood’s folly, while thy days are ready to fly away? Wilt thou flee from the service of God, but eagerly serve men? wilt thou seek the multitude, but forsake the presence of the One who is sought in all affairs? Wilt thou neglect to make provision for thy journey, and sell thy portion for a pottage of lentils? Unto thee thy soul has not yet said: ‘Enough!’ but her lust bears new fruit each month; turn aside from her advice, and seek God’s counsel; keep away from the five senses. Reconcile thyself to thy Creator in the remainder of thy days which hurry and hasten. Seek not His good will with a double heart, and go not toward enchantments. Be strong as a leopard to do His will, swift as an antelope, and mighty as lions. Let thy heart not fail in mid-ocean, when thou seest the mountains totter and move to and fro. Worn out are the hands of sailors, and skilful workers keep silence; they walk forward cheerfully, but they turn back, and are ashamed. The ocean is thy only refuge, there is no way to escape, the snares are all around. The sails flutter and wave, the planks tremble and shake. The wind sports with the waters, like them that cast about the sheaves for threshing; for a while it flattens them like threshing-floors, and then it heaps them up like stacks. When the waves grow mighty, they are like lions; but when they subside, they seem like serpents; billow follows billow, fiercely chasing, like adders that will not be charmed. The mighty vessel is well-nigh overthrown by a mighty breaker, and the mast and the riggings are loosened. The chambers of the ark are in confusion: no one knows which are the lower, the middle, or the upper ones. They that pull the riggings are in anguish, men and women are sorely grieved; troubled is the spirit of their captains—the bodies are weary of the souls. The strength of masts is of no avail, and the counsel of greybeards no longer pleases. Masts of cedar are counted like stubble, cypress-trees are turned into reeds. Weights of sand are like straw on the surface of the ocean, iron and stone are like chaff. Then each man prays to his holiness, but thou turnest to the holy of the holies. Thou rememberest the wonders of the Red Sea and the Jordan, which are engraved on every heart. Thou then praisest Him who stills the roaring of the ocean, when its waters cast up mire. Thou mentionest to Him the iniquity of unclean hearts, but He remembers for thee the merit of the holy fathers. He renews His miracles, when thou renewest before Him the song of the dancing of the Mahlites and Mushites.[116] He restores the breath of life unto the bodies, and the dry bones live again. In a moment the billows are stilled, and seem like flocks scattered upon the face of the earth.