The PROPHET by Kahlil Gibran
da http://www.cc.columbia.edu/~gm84/gibtable.html

On Buying & Selling

And a merchant said, "Speak to us of Buying and Selling." 
 

And he answered and said: 
 

To you the earth yields her fruit, and you shall not want if you but know how to fill your hands. 
 

It is in exchanging the gifts of the earth that you shall find abundance and be satisfied. 
 

Yet unless the exchange be in love and kindly justice, it will but lead some to greed and others to hunger. 
 

When in the market place you toilers of the sea and fields and vineyards meet the weavers and the potters and the gatherers of spices, - 
 

Invoke then the master spirit of the earth, to come into your midst and sanctify the scales and the reckoning that weighs value against value. 
 

And suffer not the barren-handed to take part in your transactions, who would sell their words for your labour. 
 

To such men you should say, 
 

"Come with us to the field, or go with our brothers to the sea and cast your net; 
 

For the land and the sea shall be bountiful to you even as to us." 
 

And if there come the singers and the dancers and the flute players, - buy of their gifts also. 
 

For they too are gatherers of fruit and frankincense, and that which they bring, though fashioned of dreams, is raiment and food for your soul. 
 

And before you leave the marketplace, see that no one has gone his way with empty hands. 
 

For the master spirit of the earth shall not sleep peacefully upon the wind till the needs of the least of you are satisfied.

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On Beauty

And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty." 
 

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? 
 

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? 
 

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle. 
 

Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us." 
 

And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. 
 

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us." 
 

The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. 
 

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow." 
 

But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains, 
 

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions." 
 

At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east." 
 

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset." 
 

In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills." 
 

And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair." 
 

All these things have you said of beauty. 
 

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, 
 

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. 
 

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, 
 

But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. 
 

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, 
 

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. 
 

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, 
 

But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. 
 

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. 
 

But you are life and you are the veil. 
 

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. 
 

But you are eternity and your are the mirror. 
 

On Love

Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love." 
 

And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said: 
 

When love beckons to you follow him, 
 

Though his ways are hard and steep. 
 

And when his wings enfold you yield to him, 
 

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. 
 

And when he speaks to you believe in him, 
 

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. 
 

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. 
 

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, 
 

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. 
 

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself. 
 

He threshes you to make you naked. 
 

He sifts you to free you from your husks. 
 

He grinds you to whiteness. 
 

He kneads you until you are pliant; 
 

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast. 
 

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart. 
 

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, 
 

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, 
 

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. 
 

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. 
 

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; 
 

For love is sufficient unto love. 
 

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God." 
 

And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. 
 

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself. 
 

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: 
 

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. 
 

To know the pain of too much tenderness. 
 

To be wounded by your own understanding of love; 
 

And to bleed willingly and joyfully. 
 

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; 
 

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy; 
 

To return home at eventide with gratitude; 
 

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips. 
 

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On Work
Then a ploughman said, "Speak to us of Work." 
 

And he answered, saying: 
 

You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth. 
 

For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite. 
 

When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. 
 

Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison? 
Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune. 
 

But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born, 
 

And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life, 
 

And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret. 
 

But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written. 
 

You have been told also life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary. 
 

And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge, 
 

And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge, 
 

And all knowledge is vain save when there is work, 
 

And all work is empty save when there is love; 
 

And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God. 
 

And what is it to work with love? 
 

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth. 
 

It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house. 
 

It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit. 
 

It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit, 
 

And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching. 
 

Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, "he who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is a nobler than he who ploughs the soil. 
 

And he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet." 
 

But I say, not in sleep but in the over-wakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass; 
 

And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving. 
 

Work is love made visible. 
 

And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy. 
 

For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger. 
 

And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge distils a poison in the wine. 
 

And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night. 
 

 
On Teaching

Then said a teacher, "Speak to us of Teaching." 
 

And he said: 
 

No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of our knowledge. 
 

The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness. 
 

If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind. 
 

The astronomer may speak to you of his understanding of space, but he cannot give you his understanding. 
 

The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is in all space, but he cannot give you the ear which arrests the rhythm nor the voice that echoes it. 
 

And he who is versed in the science of numbers can tell of the regions of weight and measure, but he cannot conduct you thither. 
 

For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man. 
 

And even as each one of you stands alone in God's knowledge, so must each one of you be alone in his knowledge of God and in his understanding of the earth. 

On Good & Evil

And one of the elders of the city said, "Speak to us of Good and Evil." 
 

And he answered: 
 

Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil. 
 

For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst? 
 

Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts, it drinks even of dead waters. 
 

You are good when you are one with yourself. 
 

Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil. 
 

For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house. 
 

And a ship without rudder may wander aimlessly among perilous isles yet sink not to the bottom. 
 

You are good when you strive to give of yourself. 
 

Yet you are not evil when you seek gain for yourself. 
 

For when you strive for gain you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks at her breast. 
 

Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, "Be like me, ripe and full and ever giving of your abundance." 
 

For to the fruit giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root. 
 

You are good when you are fully awake in your speech, 
 

Yet you are not evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose. 
 

And even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue. 
 

You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps. 
 

Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping. 
 

Even those who limp go not backward. 
 

But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness. 
 

You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not good, 
 

You are only loitering and sluggard. 
 

Pity that the stags cannot teach swiftness to the turtles. 
 

In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: and that longing is in all of you. 
 

But in some of you that longing is a torrent rushing with might to the sea, carrying the secrets of the hillsides and the songs of the forest. 
 

And in others it is a flat stream that loses itself in angles and bends and lingers before it reaches the shore. 
 

But let not him who longs much say to him who longs little, "Wherefore are you slow and halting?" 
 

For the truly good ask not the naked, "Where is your garment?" nor the houseless, "What has befallen your house?" 
 

On Religion

And an old priest said, "Speak to us of Religion." 
 

And he said: 
 

Have I spoken this day of aught else? 
 

Is not religion all deeds and all reflection, 
 

And that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom? 
 

Who can separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations? 
 

Who can spread his hours before him, saying, "This for God and this for myself; This for my soul, and this other for my body?" 
 

All your hours are wings that beat through space from self to self. 
 

He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked. 
 

The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin. 
 

And he who defines his conduct by ethics imprisons his song-bird in a cage. 
 

The freest song comes not through bars and wires. 
 

And he to whom worshipping is a window, to open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul whose windows are from dawn to dawn. 
 

Your daily life is your temple and your religion. 
 

Whenever you enter into it take with you your all. 
 

Take the plough and the forge and the mallet and the lute, 
 

The things you have fashioned in necessity or for delight. 
 

For in revery you cannot rise above your achievements nor fall lower than your failures. 
 

And take with you all men: 
 

For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair. 
 

And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles. 
 

Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children. 
 

And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain. 
 

You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees.
 

 
On Death

Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death." 
 

And he said: 
 

You would know the secret of death. 
 

But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? 
 

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. 
 

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. 
 

For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one. 
 

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond; 
 

And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. 
 

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity. 
 

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour. 
 

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king? 
 

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling? 
 

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? 
 

And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? 
 

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. 
 

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. 
 

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance. 
 

 
On Freedom

And an orator said, "Speak to us of Freedom." 
 

And he answered: 
 

At the city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom, 
 

Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him though he slays them. 
 

Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff. 
 

And my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment. 
 

You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief, 
 

But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound. 
 

And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour? 
 

In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle the eyes. 
 

And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free? 
 

If it is an unjust law you would abolish, that law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead. 
 

You cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the foreheads of your judges, though you pour the sea upon them. 
 

And if it is a despot you would dethrone, see first that his throne erected within you is destroyed. 
 

For how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their won pride? 
 

And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you. 
 

And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared. 
 

Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape. 
 

These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling. 
 

And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light. 
 

And thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom. 
 

On Friendship

And a youth said, "Speak to us of Friendship." 
 

Your friend is your needs answered. 
 

He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. 
 

And he is your board and your fireside. 
 

For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. 
 

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay." 
 

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart; 
 

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed. 
 

When you part from your friend, you grieve not; 
 

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. 
 

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. 
 

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught. 
 

And let your best be for your friend. 
 

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also. 
 

For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill? 
 

Seek him always with hours to live. 
 

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness. 
 

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. 
 

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. 

 
On Reason & Passion

And the priestess spoke again and said: 
 

"Speak to us of Reason and Passion." 
 

And he answered saying: 
 

Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against passion and your appetite. 
 

Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody. 
 

But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements? 
 

Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. 
 

If either your sails or our rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. 
 

For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. 
 

Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion; that it may sing; 
 

And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. 
 

I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house. 
 

Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both. 
 

Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows - then let your heart say in silence, "God rests in reason." 
 

And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky, - then let your heart say in awe, "God moves in passion." 
 

And since you are a breath In God's sphere, and a leaf in God's forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion. 
 

 
On Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children." 
 

And he said: 
 

Your children are not your children. 
 

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. 
 

They come through you but not from you, 
 

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. 
 

You may give them your love but not your thoughts. 
 

For they have their own thoughts. 
 

You may house their bodies but not their souls, 
 

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. 
 

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. 
 

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. 
 

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. 
 

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. 
 

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; 
 

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. 
 

On Self-Knowledge

And a man said, "Speak to us of Self-Knowledge." 
 

And he answered, saying: 
 

Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights. 
 

But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge. 
 

You would know in words that which you have always know in thought. 
 

You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams. 
 

And it is well you should. 
 

The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea; 
 

And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. 
 

But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure; 
 

And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line. 
 

For self is a sea boundless and measureless. 
 

Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth." 
 

Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path." 
 

For the soul walks upon all paths. 
 

The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. 
 

The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.