The Prophet
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THE PROPHET
By Kahlil Gibran
New York: Alfred A. Knopf
1923
_The Twelve Illustrations In This Volume
Are Reproduced From Original Drawings By
The Author_
“His power came from some great reservoir
of spiritual life else it could not have
been so universal and so potent, but the
majesty and beauty of the language with
which he clothed it were all his own?”
--Claude Bragdon
THE BOOKS OF KAHLIL GIBRAN
The Madman. 1918 Twenty Drawings. 1919
The Forerunner. 1920 The Prophet. 1923
Sand and Foam. 1926 Jesus the Son of
Man. 1928 The Forth Gods. 1931 The
Wanderer. 1932 The Garden of the Prophet
1933 Prose Poems. 1934 Nymphs of the
Valley. 1948
CONTENTS
The Coming of the Ship
On Love
On Marriage
On Children
On Giving
On Eating and Drinking
On Work
On Joy and Sorrow
On Houses
On Clothes
On Buying and Selling
On Crime and Punishment
On Laws
On Freedom
On Reason and Passion
On Pain
On Self-Knowledge
On Teaching
On Friendship
On Talking
On Time
On Good and Evil
On Prayer
On Pleasure
On Beauty
On Religion
On Death
The Farewell
THE PROPHET
Almustafa, the chosen and the
beloved, who was a dawn unto his own
day, had waited twelve years in the city
of Orphalese for his ship that was to
return and bear him back to the isle of
his birth.
And in the twelfth year, on the seventh
day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he
climbed the hill without the city walls
and looked seaward; and he beheld his
ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart were flung
open, and his joy flew far over the sea.
And he closed his eyes and prayed in the
silences of his soul.
*****
But as he descended the hill, a sadness
came upon him, and he thought in his
heart:
How shall I go in peace and without
sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the
spirit shall I leave this city.
Long
were the days of pain I have spent
within its walls, and long were the
nights of aloneness; and who can depart
from his pain and his aloneness without
regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I
scattered in these streets, and too many
are the children of my longing that walk
naked among these hills, and I cannot
withdraw from them without a burden and
an ache.
It is not a garment I cast off this
day, but a skin that I tear with my own
hands.
Nor is it a thought I leave behind me,
but a heart made sweet with hunger and
with thirst.
*****
Yet I cannot tarry longer.
The sea that calls all things unto her
calls me, and I must embark.
For to stay, though the hours burn in
the night, is to freeze and crystallize
and be bound in a mould.
Fain would I take with me all that is
here. But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and
the lips that gave it wings. Alone
must it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the
eagle fly across the sun.
*****
Now when he reached the foot of the
hill, he turned again towards the sea,
and he saw his ship approaching the
harbour, and upon her prow the mariners,
the men of his own land.
And his soul cried out to them, and he
said:
Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of
the tides,
How often have you sailed in my dreams.
And now you come in my awakening, which
is my deeper dream.
Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with
sails full set awaits the wind.
Only another breath will I breathe in
this still air, only another loving look
cast backward,
And then I shall stand among you, a
seafarer among seafarers.
And you,
vast sea, sleepless mother,
Who alone are peace and freedom to the
river and the stream,
Only another winding will this stream
make, only another murmur in this glade,
And then shall I come to you, a
boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
*****
And as he walked he saw from afar men
and women leaving their fields and their
vineyards and hastening towards the city
gates.
And he heard their voices calling his
name, and shouting from field to field
telling one another of the coming of his
ship.
And he said to himself:
Shall the day of parting be the day of
gathering?
And shall it be said that my eve was in
truth my dawn?
And what shall I give unto him who has
left his plough in midfurrow, or to
him who has stopped the wheel of his
winepress?
Shall my heart become a
tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may
gather and give unto them?
And shall my desires flow like a
fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty
may touch me, or a flute that his breath
may pass through me?
A seeker of silences am I, and what
treasure have I found in silences that I
may dispense with confidence?
If this is my day of harvest, in what
fields have I sowed the seed, and in
what unremembered seasons?
If this indeed be the hour in which I
lift up my lantern, it is not my flame
that shall burn therein.
Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern,
And the guardian of the night shall fill
it with oil and he shall light it also.
*****
These things he said in words. But much
in his heart remained unsaid. For he
himself could not speak his deeper
secret.
*****
And when he entered into the city all
the people came to meet him, and they
were crying out to him as with one
voice.
And the elders of the city stood forth
and said:
Go not yet away from us.
A noontide have you been in our
twilight, and your youth has given us
dreams to dream.
No stranger are you among us, nor
a guest, but our son and our dearly
beloved.
Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for
your face.
*****
And the priests and the priestesses said
unto him:
Let not the waves of the sea separate us
now, and the years you have spent in our
midst become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit,
and your shadow has been a light
upon our faces.
Much have we loved you. But speechless
was our love, and with veils has it been
veiled.
Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and
would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows
not its own depth until the hour of
separation.
*****
And others came also and entreated him.
But he answered them not. He only bent
his head; and those who stood near saw
his tears falling upon his breast.
And he and the people proceeded towards
the great square before the temple.
And there came out of the sanctuary a
woman whose name was Almitra. And she
was a seeress.
And he looked upon her with exceeding
tenderness, for it was she who had first
sought and believed in him when he had
been but a day in their city.
And she hailed him, saying:
Prophet of God, in quest of the
uttermost, long have you searched the
distances for your ship.
And now your ship has come, and you must
needs go.
Deep is your longing for the land of
your memories and the dwelling place
of your greater desires; and our love
would not bind you nor our needs hold
you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that
you speak to us and give us of your
truth.
And we will give it unto our children,
and they unto their children, and it
shall not perish.
In your aloneness you have watched with
our days, and in your wakefulness you
have listened to the weeping and the
laughter of our sleep.
Now therefore disclose us to ourselves,
and tell us all that has been shown
you of that which is between birth and
death.
*****
And he answered,
People of Orphalese, of what can I
speak save of that which is even now
moving within your souls?
***** *****
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, for 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 ecstacy;
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.
***** *****
Then Almitra spoke again and said,
And what of _Marriage_ master?
And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you
shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white
wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the
silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your
togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance
between you.
*****
Love one another, but make not a bond of
love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between
the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from
one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat
not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let
each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
*****
Give your hearts, but not into each
other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain
your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near
together:
For the pillars of the temple stand
apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow
not in each other’s shadow.
***** *****
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,