Once Confucius was kept by his enemies

In a state of siege, and for a whole week

Had no foodstuff cooked with fire to eat.

One old recluse climbed down the hills

To condole with Great Master and said,

'You had nearly met with your death.'

'Yes,' was the Master's reply.

'Do you dislike death?'

'I do.'

'Have you not heard, Sir,

How the sagely minded man

Deals with himself at death's door?

He forgets that he has a liver and gall;

He takes no thought of his ears and eyes.

He seems lost and aimless

Beyond the dust and dirt of the world,

And enjoys himself at ease in occupations

Untroubled by the affairs of businesses.

'He may be described as acting and yet

Not relying on what he does;

As being superior and yet

Not using his superiority

To exercise any control.

Does he has any leisure

To murmur against his death?!

The straight tree is the first to be cut down;

The well of sweet water is the first

to be exhausted. Now you would make a display

Of your wisdom to astonish ignorance of men;

You would cultivate your person

To make the inferiority of others more apparent;

A light shines around you as if you were carrying

The sun and the moon in your both hands,

And thus it is that you do not escape such calamity.

'Formerly I heard a highly accomplished man said

That those who boasted had no merit; the merit

Which was deemed complete would begin to decay;

The fame which was deemed complete

Would begin to wane.

'That you are complete in your bodily frame

And possess all its nine openings;

That you have not met with any calamity

In the middle of your life course,

Such as deafness, blindness or lameness,

And can still take your place as a man

Among other men -- in all this

You are greatly fortunate.

What leisure have you

To murmur against your death!'