furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream
was born.
And in keeping yourself in labor, you are in
truth loving life, and to love life through labor is
to be intimate with life’s inmost secret.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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It is 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.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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BUILDERS OF BRIDGES
In Antioch, where the river Asi goes to meet the
sea, a bridge was built to bring one half of the
city nearer to the other half. It was built of large
stones carried down from among the hills on the
backs of the mules of Antioch.
When the bridge was finished, upon a pillar
thereof was engraved in Greek and in Aramaic,
“This bridge was built by King Antiochus II.”
And all the people walked across the good
bridge over the goodly river Asi.
And upon an evening, a youth, deemed by
some a little mad, descended to the pillar where
the words were engraved, and he covered over
the graving with charcoal, and above it wrote,
“The stones of this bridge were brought
down from the hills by the mules. In passing to
and fro over it, you are riding upon the backs
of the mules of Antioch, builders of this bridge.”
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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And when the people read what the youth
had written, some of them laughed and some
marveled. And some said, “Ah, yes, we know
who has done this. Is he not a little mad?”
But one mule said, laughing, to another
mule, “Do you not remember that we did carry
those stones? And yet until now it has been said
that the bridge was built by King Antiochus.”
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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RENOWN
Be grateful that you do not have to
live down the renown
of a father or the wealth of an uncle.
But above all be grateful that
no one will have to live down
either your renown or your wealth.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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LIFE IS A PROCESSION
Life is a procession.
The slow of foot finds it too swift
and steps out.
And the swift of foot finds it too slow
and also steps out.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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SONG OF HUMANITY
I was here from the
moment of the beginning,
and here I am still.
And I shall remain here
until the end of the world,
for there is no ending to
my grief-stricken being.
I roamed the infinite sky,
and soared in the ideal world,
and floated through the firmament.
But here I am,
prisoner of measurement.
I heard the teachings of Confucius.
I listened to Brahma’s wisdom.
I sat by Buddha under the Tree of Knowledge.
Yet here I am,
existing with ignorance and heresy.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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I was on Sinai when Jehovah approached
Moses.
I saw the Nazarene’s miracles at the Jordan.
I was in Medina when Muhammad visited.
Yet here I am,
prisoner of bewilderment.
Then I witnessed the might of Babylon.
I learned of the glory of Egypt.
I viewed the warring greatness of Rome.
Yet my earlier teachings showed
the weakness and sorrow
of those achievements.
I conversed with the magicians of Ain Dour.
I debated with the priests of Assyria.
I gleaned depth from the prophets
of Palestine.
Yet I am still seeking truth.
I gathered wisdom from quiet India.
I probed the antiquity of Arabia.
I heard all that can be heard.
Yet my heart is deaf and blind.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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I suffered at the hands of despotic rulers.
I suffered slavery under insane invaders.
I suffered hunger imposed by tyranny.
Yet I still possess some inner power
with which I struggle to greet each day.
My mind is filled, but my heart is empty.
My body is old, but my heart is an infant.
Perhaps in youth my heart will grow,
but I pray to grow old and reach
the moment of my return to God.
Only then will my heart fill!
I was here from the
moment of the beginning,
and here I am still.
And I shall remain here
until the end of world,
for there is no ending to
my grief-stricken being.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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SINGING IN THE SILENCE
Life sings in our silences
and dreams in our slumber.
Even when we are beaten and low,
life is enthroned and high.
And when we weep,
life smiles upon the day
and is free even when
we drag our chains.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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MODESTY
Your clothes conceal much of your beauty, yet
they hide not the unbeautiful.
And though you see in garments the freedom
of privacy, you may find in them a harness and
a chain.
Would that you could meet the sun and the
wind with more of your skin and less of your
raiment. For the breath of life is in the sunlight
and the hand of life is in the wind.
Some of you say, “It is the north wind who
has woven the clothes to wear.”
But shame was his loom, and the softening
of the sinews was his thread. And when his work
was done, he laughed in the forest.
Forget not that modesty is for a shield against
the eye of the unclean.
br /> And when the unclean shall be no more,
what were modesty but a fetter and a fouling of
the mind?
And forget not that the earth delights to feel
your bare feet and the winds long to play with
your hair.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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BETWEEN
I am forever walking upon these shores,
betwixt the sand and the foam.
The high tide will erase my footprints,
and the wind will blow away the foam.
But the sea and the shore
will remain forever.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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IGNORANCE
I am ignorant of absolute truth.
But I am humble before my ignorance
and therein lies my honor and my reward.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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WHEN YOU MEET A FRIEND
When you meet your friend on the roadside or
in the market place,
let the spirit in you move your lips and direct
your tongue.
Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear
of his ear.
For his soul will keep the truth of your heart,
as the taste of the wine is remembered
when the color is forgotten
and the vessel is no more.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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STRANGERS TO LIFE
My friend, you and I shall remain
strangers unto life,
and unto one another,
and each unto ourselves,
until the day when you shall speak
and I shall listen,
deeming your voice my own voice,
and when I shall stand before you,
thinking myself standing before a mirror.
They say to me,
“Should you know yourself
you would know all people.”
And I say,
“Only when I seek all people
shall I know myself.”
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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LIFE IS A RESOLUTION
Life is a resolution that accompanies youth,
and a diligence that follows maturity,
and a wisdom that pursues senility.
Knowledge is a light
enriching the warmth of life,
and all may partake who seek it out.
Humanity is a brilliant river,
singing its way and carrying with it
the mountains’ secrets into
the heart of the sea.
The spirit is a sacred blue torch,
burning and devouring the dry plants,
and growing with the storm,
and illuminating the faces of the goddesses.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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LONGING
He who longs the most
lives the longest.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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TO AMERICAN IMMIGRANTS FROM THE
MIDDLE EAST (1926)
I believe in you, and I believe in your
destiny.
I believe that you are contributors to this new
civilization.
I believe that you have inherited from your
ancestors an ancient dream, a song, a proph-
ecy, which you can proudly lay as a gift of
gratitude upon the lap of America.
I believe you can say to the founders of this
great nation, “Here I am, a youth, a young
tree whose roots were plucked from the
hills of Lebanon, yet I am deeply rooted
here, and I would be fruitful.”
And I believe that you can say to Abraham
Lincoln, the blessed, “Jesus of Nazareth
touched your lips when you spoke, and
guided your hand when you wrote. And I
shall uphold all that you have said and all
that you have written.”
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
99
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I believe that you can say to Emerson and Whit-
man and James, “In my veins runs the blood
of the poets and wise men of old, and it is
my desire to come to you and receive, but I
shall not come with empty hands.”
I believe that even as your ancestors came to
this land to produce riches, you were born
here to produce riches by intelligence, by
labor.
And I believe that it is in you to be good
citizens.
And what is it to be a good citizen?
It is to acknowledge the other person’s rights
before asserting your own, but always to be
conscious of your own.
It is to be free in thought and deed, but it is to
know that your freedom is subject to the
other person’s freedom.
It is to create the useful and the beautiful with
your own hands, and to admire what others
have created in love and with faith.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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It is to produce wealth by labor and only by
labor, and to spend less than you have
produced, so that your children may not be
dependent on the state for support when
you are no more.
It is to stand before the towers of New York,
Washington, Chicago, and San Francisco say-
ing in your heart, “I am the descendant of a
people that built Damascus and Byblos, and
Tyre and Sidon and Antioch, and now I am
here to build with you, and with a will.”
It is to be proud of being an American, but
it is also to be proud that your fathers
and mothers came from a land upon which
God laid his gracious hand and raised his
messengers.
Young Americans of Syrian origin, I believe
in you.
L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y
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4
Seasons
of Life
Life pulses in the rhythms that we find
in the revolutions of day and night, the
changing of the seasons, and the beating
of our own hearts.
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CHANGING WITH THE SEASONS
The mountains, trees, and rivers change their
appearance with the vicissitudes of times and
seasons, as one changes with one’s experiences
and emotions.
The lofty poplar that res
embles a bride in
the daytime will look like a column of smoke in
the evening.
The huge rock that stands impregnable at
noon will appear to be a miserable pauper at
night, with earth for its bed and the sky for its
cover.
And the rivulet that we see glittering in the
morning and hear singing the hymn of eternity
will, in the evening, turn to a stream of tears
wailing like a mother bereft of her child.
And Lebanon, which had looked dignified a
week before, when the moon was full and our
spirits were happy, looked sorrowful and lone-
some that night.
K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E
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NO MIRACLES BEYOND THE SEASONS
An astronomer speaks of Jesus:
You question me concerning the miracles of
Jesus.
Every thousand thousand years, the sun and
the moon and this earth and all her sister plan-
ets meet in a straight line, and they confer for a
moment together.
Then they slowly disperse and await the
passing of another thousand thousand years.
There are no miracles beyond the seasons,
yet you and I do not know all the seasons.
And what if a season shall be made manifest
in the shape of a human being?
In Jesus, the elements of our bodies and our
dreams came together according to law. All that
was timeless before him became time-full in him.
They say he gave sight to the blind and walk-
ing to the paralyzed, and that he drove devils out
of the mad.
Perchance blindness is but a dark thought
that can be overcome by a burning thought.
S E A S O N S O F L I F E
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Perchance a withered limb is but idleness
that can be quickened by energy.
And perhaps the devils, these restless ele-
ments in our lives, are driven out by the angels
of peace and serenity.
They say he raised the dead to life. If you can
tell me what is death, then I will tell you what
is life.
In a field, I have watched an acorn, a thing
so still and seemingly useless. And in the spring,
I have seen that acorn take roots and rise—the
beginning of an oak tree—towards the sun.