Wisdom.
Chapter 15.
But you, O God, are gracious and true, longsuffering, and in mercy ordering all things, 
For if we sin, we are your, knowing your power: but we will not sin, knowing that we are counted your. 
For to know you is perfect righteousness: yes, to know your power is the root of immortality. 
For neither did the mischievous invention of men deceive us, nor an image spotted with various colors, the painter's fruitless labor; 
The sight whereof entices fools to lust after it, and so they desire the form of a dead image, that has no breath. 
Both they that make them, they that desire them, and they that worship them, are lovers of evil things, and are worthy to have such things to trust upon. 
For the potter, tempering soft earth, fashions every vessel with much labor for our service: yes, of the same clay he makes both the vessels that serve for clean uses, and likewise also all such as serve to the contrary: but what is the use of either sort, the potter himself is the judge. 
And employing his labors lewdly, he makes a vain god of the same clay, even he which a little before was made of earth himself, and within a little while after returns to the same, out when his life which was lent him shall be demanded. 
Notwithstanding his care is, not that he shall have much labor, nor that his life is short: but strives to excel goldsmiths and silversmiths, and endeavors to do like the workers in brass, and counts it his glory to make counterfeit things. 
His heart is ashes, his hope is more vile than earth, and his life of less value than clay: 
Forasmuch as he knew not his Maker, and him that inspired into him an active soul, and breathed in a living spirit. 
But they counted our life a pastime, and our time here a market for gain: for, say they, we must be getting every way, though it be by evil means. 
For this man, that of earthly matter makes brittle vessels and graven images, knows himself to offend above all others. 
And all the enemies of your people, that hold them in subjection, are most foolish, and are more miserable than very babes. 
For they counted all the idols of the heathen to be gods: which neither have the use of eyes to see, nor noses to draw breath, nor ears to hear, nor fingers of hands to handle; and as for their feet, they are slow to go. 
For man made them, and he that borrowed his own spirit fashioned them: but no man can make a god like to himself. 
For being mortal, he works a dead thing with wicked hands: for he himself is better than the things which he worships: whereas he lived once, but they never. 
Yes, they worshipped those beasts also that are most hateful: for being compared together, some are worse than others. 
Neither are they beautiful, so much as to be desired in respect of beasts: but they went without the praise of God and his blessing. 
