Exhortation to the Greeks 12.119

… and not his death. Come, madman, not leaning on the thyrsus, not crowned with ivy; throw away the headband, throw away the fawnskin; come to your senses. I will show you the Word and the mysteries of the Word, describing them in terms of your own imagery. This is the mountain beloved by God, not a subject for tragedies like Cithaeron, but dedicated to the dramas of truth; a sober mountain, shaded by pure woods. On it revel not the sisters of Semele “the thunderstruck,” the maenads, who are initiated into the unholy distribution of flesh, but the daughters of God, the fair lambs, who proclaim the holy rites of the Word, gathering a sober chorus. The chorus is the righteous; the song is a hymn to the King of all. The maidens play the harp, angels give glory, prophets speak; the sound of music is sent forth; they run swiftly after the sacred band; those who have been called hasten, longing to receive the Father. Come to me, old man, you too; leave Thebes, throw away your prophecy and your Bacchic revelry, and be led by the hand to the truth. See, I give you the wood to lean on. Hurry, Tiresias, believe; you will see. Christ shines more brightly than the sun, and through him the eyes of the blind see again. Night will flee from you, fire will be afraid, death will be gone. You will see the heavens, old man, you who do not see Thebes.