Sirach.
Chapter 38.
Honor a physician according to your need with the honors due to him, for truly the Lord has created him. 
For healing comes from the Most High, and he shall receive a gift from the king. 
The skill of the physician will lift up his head. He will be admired in the sight of great men. 
The Lord created medicines out of the earth. A prudent man will not despise them. 
Wasn’t water made sweet with wood, that its power might be known? 
He gave men skill that he might be glorified in his marvelous works. 
With them he heals and takes away pain. 
With these, the pharmacist makes a mixture. God’s works won’t be brought to an end. From him, peace is upon the face of the earth. 
My son, in your sickness don’t be negligent, but pray to the Lord, and he will heal you. 
Put away wrong doing, and direct your hands in righteousness. Cleanse your heart from all sin. 
Give a sweet savor and a memorial of fine flour, and pour oil on your offering, according to your means. 
Then give place to the physician, for truly the Lord has created him. Don’t let him leave you, for you need him. 
There is a time when in recovery is in their hands. 
For they also shall ask the Lord to prosper them in diagnosis and in healing for the maintenance of life. 
He who sins before his Maker, let him fall into the hands of the physician. 
My son, let your tears fall over the dead, and as one who suffers grievously, begin lamentation. Wind up his body with due honor. Don’t neglect his burial. 
Make bitter weeping and make passionate wailing. Let your mourning be according to his merit, for one day or two, lest you be spoken evil of; and so be comforted for your sorrow. 
For from sorrow comes death. Sorrow of heart saps one’s strength. 
In calamity, sorrow also remains. A poor man’s life is grievous to the heart. 
Don’t give your heart to sorrow. Put it away, remembering the end. 
Don’t forget it, for there is no returning again. You do him no good, and you would harm yourself. 
Remember his end, for so also will yours be: yesterday for me, and today for you. 
When the dead is at rest, let his remembrance rest. Be comforted for him when his spirit departs from him. 
The wisdom of the scribe comes by the opportunity of leisure. He who has little business can become wise. 
How could he become wise who holds the plow, who glories in the shaft of the goad, who drives oxen and is occupied in their labors, and who mostly talks about bulls? 
He will set his heart upon turning his furrows. His lack of sleep is to give his heifers their fodder. 
So is every craftsman and master artisan who passes his time by night as by day, those who cut engravings of signets. His diligence is to make great variety. He sets his heart to preserve likeness in his portraiture, and is careful to finish his work. 
So too is the smith sitting by the anvil and considering the unwrought iron. The smoke of the fire will waste his flesh. He toils in the heat of the furnace. The noise of the hammer deafens his ear. His eyes are upon the pattern of the object. He will set his heart upon perfecting his works. He will be careful to adorn them perfectly. 
So is the potter sitting at his work and turning the wheel around with his feet, who is always anxiously set at his work. He produces his handiwork in quantity. 
He will fashion the clay with his arm and will bend its strength in front of his feet. He will apply his heart to finish the glazing. He will be careful to clean the kiln. 
All these put their trust in their hands. Each becomes skillful in his own work. 
Without these no city would be inhabited. Men wouldn’t reside as foreigners or walk up and down there. 
They won’t be sought for in the council of the people. They won’t mount on high in the assembly. They won’t sit on the seat of the judge. They won’t understand the covenant of judgment. Neither will they declare instruction and judgment. They won’t be found where parables are. 
But they will maintain the fabric of the age. Their prayer is in the handiwork of their craft. 
