Oh my mind, I am unable to ply thy boat any longer.

I have plied it all my life and am grown old;

And I cannot now control it except at ebb-tide.

However tightly I may fasten the rope, the rudder does not yield to my pull.

Oh my mind, ply on the boat, Oh my understanding mind!

I set out on the sea of the world with boatmen and sailors who are all

grown old: Oh my mind, ply on!

He who knows the bend of the river is the great boatman.

How many boats, how many lands does the sea submerge, Oh

my understanding mind!

On my mind, you have started too late, the day flees away.

If you go ebb-tide, six of your foes¹ will eat up your boat,

Oh my understanding mind!

Oh for the tract of sand in the river of my mind!

The river breaks in upon the tract and resolves itself into the sea.

I do not get the end of the sea of my mind.

Ply on the boat, Oh my understanding mind!