{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_58585/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_58585","id":"gutenberg_58585","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58585","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Poetry","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Mysticism -- Poetry","Prose poems, American"],"text":"THE PROPHET\n\nBy Kahlil Gibran\n\nNew York: Alfred A. Knopf\n\n1923\n\n_The Twelve Illustrations In This Volume\nAre Reproduced From Original Drawings By\nThe Author_\n\n\n\n\n\u201cHis power came from some great reservoir\nof spiritual life else it could not have\nbeen so universal and so potent, but the\nmajesty and beauty of the language with\nwhich he clothed it were all his own?\u201d\n\n--Claude Bragdon\n\n\nTHE BOOKS OF KAHLIL GIBRAN\n\nThe Madman. 1918 Twenty Drawings. 1919\nThe Forerunner. 1920 The Prophet. 1923\nSand and Foam. 1926 Jesus the Son of\nMan. 1928 The Forth Gods. 1931 The\nWanderer. 1932 The Garden of the Prophet\n1933 Prose Poems. 1934 Nymphs of the\nValley. 1948\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n          The Coming of the Ship\n          On Love\n          On Marriage\n          On Children\n          On Giving\n          On Eating and Drinking\n          On Work\n          On Joy and Sorrow\n          On Houses\n          On Clothes\n          On Buying and Selling\n          On Crime and Punishment\n          On Laws\n          On Freedom\n          On Reason and Passion\n          On Pain\n          On Self-Knowledge\n          On Teaching\n          On Friendship\n          On Talking\n          On Time\n          On Good and Evil\n          On Prayer\n          On Pleasure\n          On Beauty\n          On Religion\n          On Death\n          The Farewell\n\n\n\n\nTHE PROPHET\n\nAlmustafa, the chosen and the\nbeloved, who was a dawn unto his own\nday, had waited twelve years in the city\nof Orphalese for his ship that was to\nreturn and bear him back to the isle of\nhis birth.\n\nAnd in the twelfth year, on the seventh\nday of Ielool, the month of reaping, he\nclimbed the hill without the city walls\nand looked seaward; and he beheld his\nship coming with the mist.\n\nThen the gates of his heart were flung\nopen, and his joy flew far over the sea.\nAnd he closed his eyes and prayed in the\nsilences of his soul.\n\n*****\n\nBut as he descended the hill, a sadness\ncame upon him, and he thought in his\nheart:\n\nHow shall I go in peace and without\nsorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the\nspirit shall I leave this city.\n\nLong\nwere the days of pain I have spent\nwithin its walls, and long were the\nnights of aloneness; and who can depart\nfrom his pain and his aloneness without\nregret?\n\nToo many fragments of the spirit have I\nscattered in these streets, and too many\nare the children of my longing that walk\nnaked among these hills, and I cannot\nwithdraw from them without a burden and\nan ache.\n\nIt is not a garment I cast off this\nday, but a skin that I tear with my own\nhands.\n\nNor is it a thought I leave behind me,\nbut a heart made sweet with hunger and\nwith thirst.\n\n*****\n\nYet I cannot tarry longer.\n\nThe sea that calls all things unto her\ncalls me, and I must embark.\n\nFor to stay, though the hours burn in\nthe night, is to freeze and crystallize\nand be bound in a mould.\n\nFain would I take with me all that is\nhere. But how shall I?\n\nA voice cannot carry the tongue and\nthe lips that gave it wings. Alone\nmust it seek the ether.\n\nAnd alone and without his nest shall the\neagle fly across the sun.\n\n*****\n\nNow when he reached the foot of the\nhill, he turned again towards the sea,\nand he saw his ship approaching the\nharbour, and upon her prow the mariners,\nthe men of his own land.\n\nAnd his soul cried out to them, and he\nsaid:\n\nSons of my ancient mother, you riders of\nthe tides,\n\nHow often have you sailed in my dreams.\nAnd now you come in my awakening, which\nis my deeper dream.\n\nReady am I to go, and my eagerness with\nsails full set awaits the wind.\n\nOnly another breath will I breathe in\nthis still air, only another loving look\ncast backward,\n\nAnd then I shall stand among you, a\nseafarer among seafarers.\n\nAnd you,\nvast sea, sleepless mother,\n\nWho alone are peace and freedom to the\nriver and the stream,\n\nOnly another winding will this stream\nmake, only another murmur in this glade,\n\nAnd then shall I come to you, a\nboundless drop to a boundless ocean.\n\n*****\n\nAnd as he walked he saw from afar men\nand women leaving their fields and their\nvineyards and hastening towards the city\ngates.\n\nAnd he heard their voices calling his\nname, and shouting from field to field\ntelling one another of the coming of his\nship.\n\nAnd he said to himself:\n\nShall the day of parting be the day of\ngathering?\n\nAnd shall it be said that my eve was in\ntruth my dawn?\n\nAnd what shall I give unto him who has\nleft his plough in midfurrow, or to\nhim who has stopped the wheel of his\nwinepress?\n\nShall my heart become a\ntree heavy-laden with fruit that I may\ngather and give unto them?\n\nAnd shall my desires flow like a\nfountain that I may fill their cups?\n\nAm I a harp that the hand of the mighty\nmay touch me, or a flute that his breath\nmay pass through me?\n\nA seeker of silences am I, and what\ntreasure have I found in silences that I\nmay dispense with confidence?\n\nIf this is my day of harvest, in what\nfields have I sowed the seed, and in\nwhat unremembered seasons?\n\nIf this indeed be the hour in which I\nlift up my lantern, it is not my flame\nthat shall burn therein.\n\nEmpty and dark shall I raise my lantern,\n\nAnd the guardian of the night shall fill\nit with oil and he shall light it also.\n\n*****\n\nThese things he said in words. But much\nin his heart remained unsaid. For he\nhimself could not speak his deeper\nsecret.\n\n*****\n\n[Illustration: 0020]\n\nAnd when he entered into the city all\nthe people came to meet him, and they\nwere crying out to him as with one\nvoice.\n\nAnd the elders of the city stood forth\nand said:\n\nGo not yet away from us.\n\nA noontide have you been in our\ntwilight, and your youth has given us\ndreams to dream.\n\nNo stranger are you among us, nor\na guest, but our son and our dearly\nbeloved.\n\nSuffer not yet our eyes to hunger for\nyour face.\n\n*****\n\nAnd the priests and the priestesses said\nunto him:\n\nLet not the waves of the sea separate us\nnow, and the years you have spent in our\nmidst become a memory.\n\nYou have walked among us a spirit,\nand your shadow has been a light\nupon our faces.\n\nMuch have we loved you. But speechless\nwas our love, and with veils has it been\nveiled.\n\nYet now it cries aloud unto you, and\nwould stand revealed before you.\n\nAnd ever has it been that love knows\nnot its own depth until the hour of\nseparation.\n\n*****\n\nAnd others came also and entreated him.\nBut he answered them not. He only bent\nhis head; and those who stood near saw\nhis tears falling upon his breast.\n\nAnd he and the people proceeded towards\nthe great square before the temple.\n\nAnd there came out of the sanctuary a\nwoman whose name was Almitra. And she\nwas a seeress.\n\nAnd he looked upon her with exceeding\ntenderness, for it was she who had first\nsought and believed in him when he had\nbeen but a day in their city.\n\nAnd she hailed him, saying:\n\nProphet of God, in quest of the\nuttermost, long have you searched the\ndistances for your ship.\n\nAnd now your ship has come, and you must\nneeds go.\n\nDeep is your longing for the land of\nyour memories and the dwelling place\nof your greater desires; and our love\nwould not bind you nor our needs hold\nyou.\n\nYet this we ask ere you leave us, that\nyou speak to us and give us of your\ntruth.\n\nAnd we will give it unto our children,\nand they unto their children, and it\nshall not perish.\n\nIn your aloneness you have watched with\nour days, and in your wakefulness you\nhave listened to the weeping and the\nlaughter of our sleep.\n\nNow therefore disclose us to ourselves,\nand tell us all that has been shown\nyou of that which is between birth and\ndeath.\n\n*****\n\nAnd he answered,\n\nPeople of Orphalese, of what can I\nspeak save of that which is even now\nmoving within your souls?\n\n***** *****\n\nThen said Almitra, Speak to us of\n_Love_.\n\nAnd he raised his head and looked upon\nthe people, and there fell a stillness\nupon them. And with a great voice he\nsaid:\n\nWhen love beckons to you, follow him,\n\nThough his ways are hard and steep.\n\nAnd when his wings enfold you yield to\nhim,\n\nThough the sword hidden among his\npinions may wound you.\n\nAnd when he speaks to you believe in\nhim,\n\nThough his voice may shatter your dreams\nas the north wind lays waste the garden.\n\nFor even as love crowns you so shall\nhe crucify you. Even as he is for your\ngrowth so is he for your pruning.\n\nEven as he ascends to your height and\ncaresses your tenderest branches\nthat quiver in the sun,\n\nSo shall he descend to your roots and\nshake them in their clinging to the\nearth.\n\n*****\n\nLike sheaves of corn he gathers you unto\nhimself.\n\nHe threshes you to make you naked.\n\nHe sifts you to free you from your\nhusks.\n\nHe grinds you to whiteness.\n\nHe kneads you until you are pliant;\n\nAnd then he assigns you to his sacred\nfire, that you may become sacred bread\nfor God\u2019s sacred feast.\n\n*****\n\nAll these things shall love do unto you\nthat you may know the secrets of your\nheart, and in that knowledge become a\nfragment of Life\u2019s heart.\n\nBut if in your fear you would seek only\nlove\u2019s peace and love\u2019s pleasure,\n\nThen it is better for you that you\ncover your nakedness and pass out of\nlove\u2019s threshing-floor,\n\nInto the seasonless world where you\nshall laugh, but not all of your\nlaughter, and weep, but not all of your\ntears.\n\n*****\n\nLove gives naught but itself and takes\nnaught but from itself.\n\nLove possesses not nor would it be\npossessed;\n\nFor love is sufficient unto love.\n\nWhen you love you should not say, \u201cGod\nis in my heart,\u201d but rather, \u201cI am in\nthe heart of God.\u201d\n\nAnd think not you can direct the course\nof love, for love, if it finds you\nworthy, directs your course.\n\nLove has no other desire but to fulfil\nitself.\n\nBut if you love and must needs have\ndesires, let these be your desires:\n\nTo melt and be like a running brook that\nsings its melody to the night.\n\nTo know the pain of too much tenderness.\n\nTo be wounded by your own understanding\nof love;\n\nAnd to bleed willingly and joyfully.\n\nTo wake at dawn with a winged heart and\ngive thanks for another day of loving;\n\nTo rest at the noon hour and meditate\nlove\u2019s ecstacy;\n\nTo return home at eventide with\ngratitude;\n\nAnd then to sleep with a prayer for\nthe beloved in your heart and a song of\npraise upon your lips.\n\n[Illustration: 0029]\n\n***** *****\n\nThen Almitra spoke again and said,\nAnd what of _Marriage_ master?\n\nAnd he answered saying:\n\nYou were born together, and together you\nshall be forevermore.\n\nYou shall be together when the white\nwings of death scatter your days.\n\nAye, you shall be together even in the\nsilent memory of God.\n\nBut let there be spaces in your\ntogetherness,\n\nAnd let the winds of the heavens dance\nbetween you.\n\n*****\n\nLove one another, but make not a bond of\nlove:\n\nLet it rather be a moving sea between\nthe shores of your souls.\n\nFill each other\u2019s cup but drink not from\none cup.\n\nGive one another of your bread but eat\nnot from the same loaf.\n\n\nSing and dance together and be joyous, but let\neach one of you be alone,\n\nEven as the strings of a lute are alone\nthough they quiver with the same music.\n\n*****\n\nGive your hearts, but not into each\nother\u2019s keeping.\n\nFor only the hand of Life can contain\nyour hearts.\n\nAnd stand together yet not too near\ntogether:\n\nFor the pillars of the temple stand\napart,\n\nAnd the oak tree and the cypress grow\nnot in each other\u2019s shadow.\n\n[Illustration: 0032]\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd a woman who held a babe\nagainst her bosom said, Speak to us of\n_Children_.\n\nAnd he said:\n\nYour children are not your children.\n\nThey are the sons and daughters of\nLife\u2019s longing for itself.\n\nThey come through you but not from you,\n\nAnd though they are with you yet they\nbelong not to you.\n\n*****\n\nYou may give them your love but not your\nthoughts,\n\nFor they have their own thoughts.\n\nYou may house their bodies but not their\nsouls,\n\nFor their souls dwell in the house of\ntomorrow, which you cannot visit, not\neven in your dreams.\n\nYou may strive to be like them, but seek\nnot to make them like you.\n\nFor life goes not backward nor tarries with\nyesterday.\n\nYou are the bows from which your\nchildren as living arrows are sent\nforth.\n\nThe archer sees the mark upon the path\nof the infinite, and He bends you with\nHis might that His arrows may go swift\nand far.\n\nLet your bending in the Archer\u2019s hand be\nfor gladness;\n\nFor even as he loves the arrow that\nflies, so He loves also the bow that is\nstable.\n\n***** *****\n\nThen said a rich man, Speak to us of\n_Giving_.\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nYou give but little when you give of\nyour possessions.\n\nIt is when you give of yourself that you\ntruly give.\n\nFor what are your possessions but things\nyou keep and guard for fear you may need\nthem tomorrow?\n\nAnd tomorrow, what shall tomorrow bring\nto the overprudent dog burying bones\nin the trackless sand as he follows the\npilgrims to the holy city?\n\nAnd what is fear of need but need\nitself?\n\nIs not dread of thirst when your well is\nfull, the thirst that is unquenchable?\n\nThere are those who give little of the\nmuch which they have--and they give\nit for recognition and their hidden\ndesire makes their gifts unwholesome.\n\nAnd there are those who have little and\ngive it all.\n\nThese are the believers in life and\nthe bounty of life, and their coffer is\nnever empty.\n\nThere are those who give with joy, and\nthat joy is their reward.\n\nAnd there are those who give with pain,\nand that pain is their baptism.\n\nAnd there are those who give and know\nnot pain in giving, nor do they seek\njoy, nor give with mindfulness of\nvirtue;\n\nThey give as in yonder valley the myrtle\nbreathes its fragrance into space.\n\nThrough the hands of such as these God\nspeaks, and from behind their eyes He\nsmiles upon the earth.\n\n[Illustration: 0039]\n\nIt is well to give when asked, but it\nis better to give unasked, through\nunderstanding;\n\nAnd to the open-handed the search for\none who shall receive is joy greater\nthan giving.\n\nAnd is there aught you would withhold?\n\nAll you have shall some day be given;\n\nTherefore give now, that the season\nof giving may be yours and not your\ninheritors\u2019.\n\nYou often say, \u201cI would give, but only\nto the deserving.\u201d\n\nThe trees in your orchard say not so,\nnor the flocks in your pasture.\n\nThey give that they may live, for to\nwithhold is to perish.\n\nSurely he who is worthy to receive his\ndays and his nights, is worthy of all\nelse from you.\n\nAnd he who has deserved to drink from\nthe ocean of life deserves to fill his\ncup from your little stream.\n\nAnd what desert greater shall there be,\nthan that which lies in the courage\nand the confidence, nay the charity, of\nreceiving?\n\nAnd who are you that men should rend\ntheir bosom and unveil their pride,\nthat you may see their worth naked and\ntheir pride unabashed?\n\nSee first that you yourself deserve to\nbe a giver, and an instrument of giving.\n\nFor in truth it is life that gives unto\nlife--while you, who deem yourself a\ngiver, are but a witness.\n\nAnd you receivers--and you are\nall receivers--assume no weight of\ngratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon\nyourself and upon him who gives.\n\nRather rise together with the giver on\nhis gifts as on wings;\n\nFor to be overmindful of your debt, is\nto doubt his generosity who has the\nfreehearted earth for mother, and God\nfor father.\n\n[Illustration: 0042]\n\n***** *****\n\nThen an old man, a keeper of an\ninn, said, Speak to us of _Eating and\nDrinking_.\n\nAnd he said:\n\nWould that you could live on the\nfragrance of the earth, and like an air\nplant be sustained by the light.\n\nBut since you must kill to eat, and rob\nthe newly born of its mother\u2019s milk to\nquench your thirst, let it then be an\nact of worship,\n\nAnd let your board stand an altar on\nwhich the pure and the innocent of\nforest and plain are sacrificed for that\nwhich is purer and still more innocent\nin man.\n\n*****\n\nWhen you kill a beast say to him in your\nheart,\n\n\u201cBy the same power that slays you, I too\nam slain; and I too shall be consumed.\n\nFor the law that delivered you into\nmy hand shall deliver me into a mightier\nhand.\n\nYour blood and my blood is naught but\nthe sap that feeds the tree of heaven.\u201d\n\n*****\n\nAnd when you crush an apple with your\nteeth, say to it in your heart,\n\n\u201cYour seeds shall live in my body,\n\nAnd the buds of your tomorrow shall\nblossom in my heart,\n\nAnd your fragrance shall be my breath,\nAnd together we shall rejoice through\nall the seasons.\u201d\n\n*****\n\nAnd in the autumn, when you gather\nthe grapes of your vineyards for the\nwinepress, say in your heart,\n\n\u201cI too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall\nbe gathered for the winepress,\n\nAnd like new wine I shall be kept in\neternal vessels.\u201d\n\nAnd in winter, when you draw the wine,\nlet there be in your heart a song\nfor each cup;\n\nAnd let there be in the song a\nremembrance for the autumn days, and for\nthe vineyard, and for the winepress.\n\n*****\n*****\n\nThen a ploughman said, Speak\nto us of _Work_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nYou work that you may keep pace with the\nearth and the soul of the earth.\n\nFor to be idle is to become a stranger\nunto the seasons, and to step out of\nlife\u2019s procession, that marches in\nmajesty and proud submission towards the\ninfinite.\n\nWhen you work you are a flute through\nwhose heart the whispering of the hours\nturns to music.\n\nWhich of you would be a reed, dumb and\nsilent, when all else sings together in\nunison?\n\nAlways you have been told that work is a\ncurse and labour a misfortune.\n\nBut I say to you that when you work you\nfulfil a part of earth\u2019s furthest dream,\nassigned to you when that dream was\nborn,\n\nAnd in keeping yourself with labour you\nare in truth loving life,\n\nAnd to love life through labour is to be\nintimate with life\u2019s inmost secret.\n\n*****\n\nBut if you in your pain call birth an\naffliction and the support of the flesh\na curse written upon your brow, then I\nanswer that naught but the sweat of\nyour brow shall wash away that which is\nwritten.\n\nYou have been told also that life is\ndarkness, and in your weariness you echo\nwhat was said by the weary.\n\nAnd I say that life is indeed darkness\n\u2018save when there is urge,\n\nAnd all urge is blind save when there is\nknowledge,\n\nAnd all knowledge is vain save when\nthere is work,\n\nAnd all work is empty save when there is\nlove;\n\nAnd when you work with love you bind\nyourself to yourself, and to one\nanother, and to God.\n\n*****\n\nAnd what is it to work with love?\n\nIt is to weave the cloth with threads\ndrawn from your heart, even as if your\nbeloved were to wear that cloth.\n\nIt is to build a house with affection,\neven as if your beloved were to dwell in\nthat house.\n\nIt is to sow seeds with tenderness and\nreap the harvest with joy, even as if\nyour beloved were to eat the fruit.\n\nIt is to charge all things you fashion\nwith a breath of your own spirit,\n\nAnd to know that all the blessed dead\nare standing about you and watching.\n\nOften have I heard you say, as if\nspeaking in sleep, \u201cHe who works in\nmarble, and finds the shape of his own\nsoul in the stone, is nobler than he who\nploughs the soil.\n\nAnd he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the\nlikeness of man, is more than he who\nmakes the sandals for our feet.\u201d\n\nBut I say, not in sleep but in the\noverwakefulness of noontide, that the\nwind speaks not more sweetly to the\ngiant oaks than to the least of all the\nblades of grass;\n\nAnd he alone is great who turns the\nvoice of the wind into a song made\nsweeter by his own loving.\n\n*****\n\nWork is love made visible.\n\nAnd if you cannot work with love but\nonly with distaste, it is better that\nyou should leave your work and sit at\nthe gate of the temple and take alms of\nthose who work with joy.\n\nFor if you bake bread with indifference,\nyou bake a bitter bread that feeds but\nhalf man\u2019s hunger.\n\nAnd if you grudge the crushing of the\ngrapes, your grudge distils a poison in\nthe wine.\n\nAnd if you sing though as\nangels, and love not the singing, you\nmuffle man\u2019s ears to the voices of the\nday and the voices of the night.\n\n***** *****\n\nThen a woman said, Speak to us of\n_Joy and Sorrow_.\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nYour joy is your sorrow unmasked.\n\nAnd the selfsame well from which your\nlaughter rises was oftentimes filled\nwith your tears.\n\nAnd how else can it be?\n\nThe deeper that sorrow carves into your\nbeing, the more joy you can contain.\n\nIs not the cup that holds your wine the\nvery cup that was burned in the potter\u2019s\noven?\n\nAnd is not the lute that soothes your\nspirit, the very wood that was hollowed\nwith knives?\n\nWhen you are joyous, look deep into your\nheart and you shall find it is only\nthat which has given you sorrow that is\ngiving you joy.\n\nWhen you are sorrowful look again in\nyour heart, and you shall see that\nin truth you are weeping for that which\nhas been your delight.\n\n*****\n\nSome of you say, \u201cJoy is greater than\nsorrow,\u201d and others say, \u201cNay, sorrow is\nthe greater.\u201d\n\nBut I say unto you, they are\ninseparable.\n\nTogether they come, and when one sits\nalone with you at your board, remember\nthat the other is asleep upon your bed.\n\nVerily you are suspended like scales\nbetween your sorrow and your joy.\n\nOnly when you are empty are you at\nstandstill and balanced.\n\nWhen the treasure-keeper lifts you to\nweigh his gold and his silver, needs\nmust your joy or your sorrow rise or\nfall.\n\n***** *****\n\nThen a mason came forth and said,\nSpeak to us of _Houses_.\n\nAnd he answered and said:\n\nBuild of your imaginings a bower in the\nwilderness ere you build a house within\nthe city walls.\n\nFor even as you have home-comings in\nyour twilight, so has the wanderer in\nyou, the ever distant and alone.\n\nYour house is your larger body.\n\nIt grows in the sun and sleeps in the\nstillness of the night; and it is not\ndreamless. Does not your house dream?\nand dreaming, leave the city for grove\nor hilltop?\n\nWould that I could gather your houses\ninto my hand, and like a sower scatter\nthem in forest and meadow.\n\nWould the valleys were your streets, and\nthe green paths your alleys, that you\nmight seek one another through\nvineyards, and come with the fragrance\nof the earth in your garments.\n\nBut these things are not yet to be.\n\nIn their fear your forefathers gathered\nyou too near together. And that fear\nshall endure a little longer. A little\nlonger shall your city walls separate\nyour hearths from your fields.\n\n*****\n\nAnd tell me, people of Orphalese, what\nhave you in these houses? And what is it\nyou guard with fastened doors?\n\nHave you peace, the quiet urge that\nreveals your power?\n\nHave you remembrances, the glimmering\narches that span the summits of the\nmind?\n\nHave you beauty, that leads the heart\nfrom things fashioned of wood and stone\nto the holy mountain?\n\nTell me, have you these in your houses?\n\nOr have you only comfort, and the lust\nfor comfort, that stealthy thing that\nenters the house a guest, and then\nbecomes a host, and then a master?\n\n*****\n\nAy, and it becomes a tamer, and with\nhook and scourge makes puppets of your\nlarger desires.\n\nThough its hands are silken, its heart\nis of iron.\n\nIt lulls you to sleep only to stand by\nyour bed and jeer at the dignity of the\nflesh.\n\nIt makes mock of your sound senses, and\nlays them in thistledown like fragile\nvessels.\n\nVerily the lust for comfort murders\nthe passion of the soul, and then walks\ngrinning in the funeral.\n\nBut you, children of space, you restless\nin rest, you shall not be trapped nor\ntamed.\n\nYour house shall be not an anchor but a\nmast.\n\nIt shall not be a glistening film that\ncovers a wound, but an eyelid that\nguards the eye.\n\nYou shall not fold your wings that you\nmay pass through doors, nor bend your\nheads that they strike not against a\nceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls\nshould crack and fall down.\n\nYou shall not dwell in tombs made by the\ndead for the living.\n\nAnd though of magnificence and\nsplendour, your house shall not hold\nyour secret nor shelter your longing.\n\nFor that which is boundless in you\nabides in the mansion of the sky, whose\ndoor is the morning mist, and whose\nwindows are the songs and the silences\nof night.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd the weaver said, Speak to us of\n_Clothes_.\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nYour clothes conceal much of your\nbeauty, yet they hide not the\nunbeautiful.\n\nAnd though you seek in garments the\nfreedom of privacy you may find in them\na harness and a chain.\n\nWould that you could meet the sun and\nthe wind with more of your skin and less\nof your raiment,\n\nFor the breath of life is in the\nsunlight and the hand of life is in the\nwind.\n\nSome of you say, \u201cIt is the north wind\nwho has woven the clothes we wear.\u201d\n\nAnd I say, Ay, it was the north wind,\n\nBut shame was his loom, and the\nsoftening of the sinews was his thread.\n\nAnd when his work was done he laughed in\nthe forest.\n\nForget not that modesty\nis for a shield against the eye of the\nunclean.\n\nAnd when the unclean shall be no more,\nwhat were modesty but a fetter and a\nfouling of the mind?\n\nAnd forget not that the earth delights\nto feel your bare feet and the winds\nlong to play with your hair.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd a merchant said, Speak to us of\n_Buying and Selling_.\n\nAnd he answered and said:\n\nTo you the earth yields her fruit, and\nyou shall not want if you but know how\nto fill your hands.\n\nIt is in exchanging the gifts of the\nearth that you shall find abundance and\nbe satisfied.\n\nYet unless the exchange be in love and\nkindly justice, it will but lead some to\ngreed and others to hunger.\n\nWhen in the market place you toilers of\nthe sea and fields and vineyards meet\nthe weavers and the potters and the\ngatherers of spices,--\n\nInvoke then the master spirit of the\nearth, to come into your midst and\nsanctify the scales and the reckoning\nthat weighs value against value.\n\nAnd suffer not the barren-handed to take\npart in your transactions, who would\nsell their words for your labour.\n\nTo such men you should say,\n\n\u201cCome with us to the field, or go with\nour brothers to the sea and cast your\nnet;\n\nFor the land and the sea shall be\nbountiful to you even as to us.\u201d\n\n*****\n\nAnd if there come the singers and the\ndancers and the flute players,--buy of\ntheir gifts also.\n\nFor they too are gatherers of fruit and\nfrankincense, and that which they bring,\nthough fashioned of dreams, is raiment\nand food for your soul.\n\nAnd before you leave the market place,\nsee that no one has gone his way with\nempty hands.\n\nFor the master spirit of the earth shall\nnot sleep peacefully upon the wind\ntill the needs of the least of you are\nsatisfied.\n\n***** *****\n\nThen one of the judges of the city\nstood forth and said, Speak to us of\n_Crime and Punishment_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nIt is when your spirit goes wandering\nupon the wind,\n\nThat you, alone and unguarded, commit\na wrong unto others and therefore unto\nyourself.\n\nAnd for that wrong committed must you\nknock and wait a while unheeded at the\ngate of the blessed.\n\nLike the ocean is your god-self;\n\nIt remains for ever undefiled.\n\nAnd like the ether it lifts but the\nwinged.\n\nEven like the sun is your god-self;\n\nIt knows not the ways of the mole nor\nseeks it the holes of the serpent.\n\nBut your god-self dwells not alone\nin your being.\n\nMuch in you is still man, and much in\nyou is not yet man,\n\nBut a shapeless pigmy that walks asleep\nin the mist searching for its own\nawakening.\n\nAnd of the man in you would I now speak.\n\nFor it is he and not your god-self nor\nthe pigmy in the mist, that knows crime\nand the punishment of crime.\n\n*****\n\nOftentimes have I heard you speak of one\nwho commits a wrong as though he were\nnot one of you, but a stranger unto you\nand an intruder upon your world.\n\nBut I say that even as the holy and the\nrighteous cannot rise beyond the highest\nwhich is in each one of you,\n\nSo the wicked and the weak cannot fall\nlower than the lowest which is in you\nalso.\n\nAnd as a single leaf turns not yellow\nbut with the silent knowledge of the\nwhole tree,\n\nSo the wrong-doer cannot\ndo wrong without the hidden will of you\nall.\n\nLike a procession you walk together\ntowards your god-self.\n\n[Illustration: 0064]\n\nYou are the way and the wayfarers.\n\nAnd when one of you falls down he falls\nfor those behind him, a caution against\nthe stumbling stone.\n\nAy, and he falls for those ahead of him,\nwho though faster and surer of foot, yet\nremoved not the stumbling stone.\n\nAnd this also, though the word lie heavy\nupon your hearts:\n\nThe murdered is not unaccountable for\nhis own murder,\n\nAnd the robbed is not blameless in being\nrobbed.\n\nThe righteous is not innocent of the\ndeeds of the wicked,\n\nAnd the white-handed is not clean in the\ndoings of the felon.\n\nYea, the guilty is oftentimes the victim\nof the injured,\n\nAnd still more often the condemned is\nthe burden bearer for the guiltless\nand unblamed.\n\nYou cannot separate the just from the\nunjust and the good from the wicked;\n\nFor they stand together before the face\nof the sun even as the black thread and\nthe white are woven together.\n\nAnd when the black thread breaks, the\nweaver shall look into the whole cloth,\nand he shall examine the loom also.\n\n*****\n\nIf any of you would bring to judgment\nthe unfaithful wife,\n\nLet him also weigh the heart of her\nhusband in scales, and measure his soul\nwith measurements.\n\nAnd let him who would lash the offender\nlook unto the spirit of the offended.\n\nAnd if any of you would punish in the\nname of righteousness and lay the ax\nunto the evil tree, let him see to its\nroots;\n\nAnd verily he will find the roots of the\ngood and the bad, the fruitful and the\nfruitless, all entwined together in\nthe silent heart of the earth.\n\nAnd you judges who would be just,\n\nWhat judgment pronounce you upon him\nwho though honest in the flesh yet is a\nthief in spirit?\n\nWhat penalty lay you upon him who slays\nin the flesh yet is himself slain in the\nspirit?\n\nAnd how prosecute you him who in action\nis a deceiver and an oppressor,\n\nYet who also is aggrieved and outraged?\n\n*****\n\nAnd how shall you punish those whose\nremorse is already greater than their\nmisdeeds?\n\nIs not remorse the justice which is\nadministered by that very law which you\nwould fain serve?\n\nYet you cannot lay remorse upon the\ninnocent nor lift it from the heart of\nthe guilty.\n\nUnbidden shall it call in the night,\nthat men may wake and gaze upon\nthemselves.\n\nAnd you who would\nunderstand justice, how shall you unless\nyou look upon all deeds in the fullness\nof light?\n\nOnly then shall you know that the erect\nand the fallen are but one man standing\nin twilight between the night of his\npigmy-self and the day of his god-self,\nAnd that the corner-stone of the temple\nis not higher than the lowest stone in\nits foundation.\n\n***** *****\n\nThen a lawyer said, But what of our\n_Laws_, master?\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nYou delight in laying down laws,\n\nYet you delight more in breaking them.\n\nLike children playing by the ocean who\nbuild sand-towers with constancy and\nthen destroy them with laughter.\n\nBut while you build your sand-towers the\nocean brings more sand to the shore,\n\nAnd when you destroy them the ocean\nlaughs with you.\n\nVerily the ocean laughs always with the\ninnocent.\n\nBut what of those to whom life is not\nan ocean, and man-made laws are not\nsand-towers,\n\nBut to whom life is a rock, and the law\na chisel with which they would carve it\nin their own likeness?\n\nWhat of the cripple who hates dancers?\n\nWhat of the ox who loves his yoke and\ndeems the elk and deer of the forest\nstray and vagrant things?\n\nWhat of the old serpent who cannot shed\nhis skin, and calls all others naked and\nshameless?\n\nAnd of him who comes early to the\nwedding-feast, and when over-fed and\ntired goes his way saying that all\nfeasts are violation and all feasters\nlawbreakers?\n\n*****\n\nWhat shall I say of these save that\nthey too stand in the sunlight, but with\ntheir backs to the sun?\n\nThey see only their shadows, and their\nshadows are their laws.\n\nAnd what is the sun to them but a caster\nof shadows?\n\nAnd what is it to acknowledge the\nlaws but to stoop down and trace their\nshadows upon the earth?\n\nBut you who walk facing the sun, what\nimages drawn on the earth can hold\nyou?\n\nYou who travel with the wind, what\nweather-vane shall direct your course?\n\nWhat man\u2019s law shall bind you if you\nbreak your yoke but upon no man\u2019s prison\ndoor?\n\nWhat laws shall you fear if you dance\nbut stumble against no man\u2019s iron\nchains?\n\nAnd who is he that shall bring you to\njudgment if you tear off your garment\nyet leave it in no man\u2019s path?\n\n*****\n\nPeople of Orphalese, you can muffle the\ndrum, and you can loosen the strings\nof the lyre, but who shall command the\nskylark not to sing?\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd an orator said, Speak to us of\n_Freedom_.\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nAt the city gate and by your fireside\nI have seen you prostrate yourself and\nworship your own freedom,\n\nEven as slaves humble themselves before\na tyrant and praise him though he slays\nthem.\n\nAy, in the grove of the temple and in\nthe shadow of the citadel I have seen\nthe freest among you wear their freedom\nas a yoke and a handcuff.\n\nAnd my heart bled within me; for you\ncan only be free when even the desire\nof seeking freedom becomes a harness\nto you, and when you cease to speak of\nfreedom as a goal and a fulfilment.\n\nYou shall be free indeed when your\ndays are not without a care nor your\nnights without a want and a grief,\n\nBut rather when these things girdle your\nlife and yet you rise above them naked\nand unbound.\n\n*****\n\nAnd how shall you rise beyond your days\nand nights unless you break the\nchains which you at the dawn of your\nunderstanding have fastened around your\nnoon hour?\n\nIn truth that which you call freedom is\nthe strongest of these chains, though\nits links glitter in the sun and dazzle\nyour eyes.\n\nAnd what is it but fragments of your\nown self you would discard that you may\nbecome free?\n\nIf it is an unjust law you would\nabolish, that law was written with your\nown hand upon your own forehead.\n\nYou cannot erase it by burning your law\nbooks nor by washing the foreheads of\nyour judges, though you pour the sea\nupon them.\n\nAnd if it is a despot you would\ndethrone, see first that his throne\nerected within you is destroyed.\n\nFor how can a tyrant rule the free and\nthe proud, but for a tyranny in their\nown freedom and a shame in their own\npride?\n\nAnd if it is a care you would cast off,\nthat cart has been chosen by you rather\nthan imposed upon you.\n\nAnd if it is a fear you would dispel,\nthe seat of that fear is in your heart\nand not in the hand of the feared.\n\n*****\n\nVerily all things move within your being\nin constant half embrace, the desired\nand the dreaded, the repugnant and the\ncherished, the pursued and that which\nyou would escape.\n\nThese things move within you as lights\nand shadows in pairs that cling.\n\nAnd when the shadow fades and is no\nmore, the light that lingers becomes a\nshadow to another light.\n\nAnd thus your freedom when it loses its\nfetters becomes itself the fetter of a\ngreater freedom.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd the priestess spoke again\nand said: Speak to us of _Reason and\nPassion_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nYour soul is oftentimes a battlefield,\nupon which your reason and your judgment\nwage war against your passion and your\nappetite.\n\nWould that I could be the peacemaker in\nyour soul, that I might turn the discord\nand the rivalry of your elements into\noneness and melody.\n\nBut how shall I, unless you yourselves\nbe also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers\nof all your elements?\n\nYour reason and your passion are the\nrudder and the sails of your seafaring\nsoul.\n\nIf either your sails or your rudder be\nbroken, you can but toss and drift,\nor else be held at a standstill in\nmid-seas.\n\nFor reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion,\nunattended, is a flame that burns to its\nown destruction.\n\nTherefore let your soul exalt your\nreason to the height of passion, that it\nmay sing;\n\nAnd let it direct your passion with\nreason, that your passion may live\nthrough its own daily resurrection,\nand like the phoenix rise above its own\nashes.\n\n*****\n\nI would have you consider your judgment\nand your appetite even as you would two\nloved guests in your house.\n\nSurely you would not honour one guest\nabove the other; for he who is more\nmindful of one loses the love and the\nfaith of both\n\nAmong the hills, when you sit in the\ncool shade of the white poplars, sharing\nthe peace and serenity of distant fields\nand meadows--then let your heart say in\nsilence, \u201cGod rests in reason.\u201d\n\nAnd when the storm comes, and the\nmighty wind shakes the forest,\nand thunder and lightning proclaim the\nmajesty of the sky,--then let your heart\nsay in awe, \u201cGod moves in passion.\u201d\n\nAnd since you are a breath in God\u2019s\nsphere, and a leaf in God\u2019s forest, you\ntoo should rest in reason and move in\npassion.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd a woman spoke, saying, Tell us\nof _Pain_.\n\nAnd he said:\n\nYour pain is the breaking of the shell\nthat encloses your understanding.\n\nEven as the stone of the fruit must\nbreak, that its heart may stand in the\nsun, so must you know pain.\n\nAnd could you keep your heart in wonder\nat the daily miracles of your life, your\npain would not seem less wondrous than\nyour joy;\n\nAnd you would accept the seasons of your\nheart, even as you have always accepted\nthe seasons that pass over your fields.\n\nAnd you would watch with serenity\nthrough the winters of your grief.\n\nMuch of your pain is self-chosen.\n\nIt is the bitter potion by which the\nphysician within you heals your sick\nself.\n\nTherefore trust the physician, and drink\nhis remedy in silence and tranquillity:\nFor his hand, though heavy and hard, is\nguided by the tender hand of the Unseen,\nAnd the cup he brings, though it burn\nyour lips, has been fashioned of the\nclay which the Potter has moistened with\nHis own sacred tears.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd a man said, Speak to us of\n_Self-Knowledge_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nYour hearts know in silence the secrets\nof the days and the nights.\n\nBut your ears thirst for the sound of\nyour heart\u2019s knowledge.\n\nYou would know in words that which you\nhave always known in thought.\n\nYou would touch with your fingers the\nnaked body of your dreams.\n\nAnd it is well you should.\n\nThe hidden well-spring of your soul must\nneeds rise and run murmuring to the sea;\n\nAnd the treasure of your infinite depths\nwould be revealed to your eyes.\n\nBut let there be no scales to weigh your\nunknown treasure;\n\nAnd seek not the depths of your\nknowledge with staff or sounding\nline.\n\nFor self is a sea boundless and\nmeasureless.\n\n*****\n\nSay not, \u201cI have found the truth,\u201d but\nrather, \u201cI have found a truth.\u201d\n\nSay not, \u201cI have found the path of the\nsoul.\u201d Say rather, \u201cI have met the soul\nwalking upon my path.\u201d\n\nFor the soul walks upon all paths.\n\nThe soul walks not upon a line, neither\ndoes it grow like a reed.\n\nThe soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of\ncountless petals.\n\n[Illustration: 0083]\n\n***** *****\n\nThen said a teacher, Speak to us of\n_Teaching_.\n\nAnd he said:\n\n\u201cNo man can reveal to you aught but that\nwhich already lies half asleep in the\ndawning of your knowledge.\n\nThe teacher who walks in the shadow of\nthe temple, among his followers, gives\nnot of his wisdom but rather of his\nfaith and his lovingness.\n\nIf he is indeed wise he does not bid\nyou enter the house of his wisdom, but\nrather leads you to the threshold of\nyour own mind.\n\nThe astronomer may speak to you of his\nunderstanding of space, but he cannot\ngive you his understanding.\n\nThe musician may sing to you of the\nrhythm which is in all space, but he\ncannot give you the ear which arrests\nthe rhythm nor the voice that echoes it.\n\nAnd he who is versed in the science\nof numbers can tell of the regions\nof weight and measure, but he cannot\nconduct you thither.\n\nFor the vision of one man lends not its\nwings to another man.\n\nAnd even as each one of you stands alone\nin God\u2019s knowledge, so must each one of\nyou be alone in his knowledge of God and\nin his understanding of the earth.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd a youth said, Speak to us of\n_Friendship_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nYour friend is your needs answered.\n\nHe is your field which you sow with love\nand reap with thanksgiving.\n\nAnd he is your board and your fireside.\n\nFor you come to him with your hunger,\nand you seek him for peace.\n\nWhen your friend speaks his mind you\nfear not the \u201cnay\u201d in your own mind, nor\ndo you withhold the \u201cay.\u201d\n\nAnd when he is silent your heart ceases\nnot to listen to his heart;\n\nFor without words, in friendship, all\nthoughts, all desires, all expectations\nare born and shared, with joy that is\nunacclaimed.\n\nWhen you part from your friend, you\ngrieve not;\n\nFor that which you love most in him\nmay be clearer in his absence, as the\nmountain to the climber is clearer\nfrom the plain.\n\nAnd let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening\nof the spirit.\n\nFor love that seeks aught but the\ndisclosure of its own mystery is not\nlove but a net cast forth: and only the\nunprofitable is caught.\n\n*****\n\nAnd let your best be for your friend.\n\nIf he must know the ebb of your tide,\nlet him know its flood also.\n\nFor what is your friend that you should\nseek him with hours to kill?\n\nSeek him always with hours to live.\n\nFor it is his to fill your need, but not\nyour emptiness.\n\nAnd in the sweetness of friendship\nlet there be laughter, and sharing of\npleasures.\n\nFor in the dew of little things\nthe heart finds its morning and is\nrefreshed.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd then a scholar said, Speak of _Talking_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nYou talk when you cease to be at peace\nwith your thoughts;\n\nAnd when you can no longer dwell in the\nsolitude of your heart you live in your\nlips, and sound is a diversion and a\npastime.\n\nAnd in much of your talking, thinking is\nhalf murdered.\n\nFor thought is a bird of space, that in\na cage of words may indeed unfold its\nwings but cannot fly.\n\nThere are those among you who seek the\ntalkative through fear of being alone.\n\nThe silence of aloneness reveals to\ntheir eyes their naked selves and they\nwould escape.\n\nAnd there are those who talk, and\nwithout knowledge or forethought reveal\na truth which they themselves do not\nunderstand.\n\nAnd there are those who have the truth\nwithin them, but they tell it not in\nwords.\n\nIn the bosom of such as these the spirit\ndwells in rhythmic silence.\n\n*****\n\nWhen you meet your friend on the\nroadside or in the market place, let the\nspirit in you move your lips and direct\nyour tongue.\n\nLet the voice within your voice speak to\nthe ear of his ear;\n\nFor his soul will keep the truth of\nyour heart as the taste of the wine is\nremembered\n\nWhen the colour is forgotten and the\nvessel is no more.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd an astronomer said, Master, what of _Time_?\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nYou would measure time the measureless\nand the immeasurable.\n\nYou would adjust your conduct and\neven direct the course of your spirit\naccording to hours and seasons.\n\nOf time you would make a stream upon\nwhose bank you would sit and watch its\nflowing.\n\nYet the timeless in you is aware of\nlife\u2019s timelessness,\n\nAnd knows that yesterday is but today\u2019s\nmemory and tomorrow is today\u2019s dream.\n\nAnd that that which sings and\ncontemplates in you is still dwelling\nwithin the bounds of that first moment\nwhich scattered the stars into space.\n\nWho among you does not feel that his\npower to love is boundless?\n\nAnd yet who does not feel that very\nlove, though boundless, encompassed\nwithin the centre of his being, and\nmoving not from love thought to love\nthought, nor from love deeds to other\nlove deeds?\n\nAnd is not time even as love is,\nundivided and paceless?\n\n*****\n\nBut if in your thought you must measure\ntime into seasons, let each season\nencircle all the other seasons,\n\nAnd let today embrace the past with\nremembrance and the future with longing.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd one of the elders of the city\nsaid, Speak to us of _Good and Evil_.\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nOf the good in you I can speak, but not\nof the evil.\n\nFor what is evil but good tortured by\nits own hunger and thirst?\n\nVerily when good is hungry it seeks food\neven in dark caves, and when it thirsts\nit drinks even of dead waters.\n\nYou are good when you are one with\nyourself.\n\nYet when you are not one with yourself\nyou are not evil.\n\nFor a divided house is not a den of\nthieves; it is only a divided house.\n\nAnd a ship without rudder may wander\naimlessly among perilous isles yet sink\nnot to the bottom.\n\nYou are good when\nyou strive to give of yourself.\n\nYet you are not evil when you seek gain\nfor yourself.\n\nFor when you strive for gain you are\nbut a root that clings to the earth and\nsucks at her breast.\n\nSurely the fruit cannot say to the root,\n\u201cBe like me, ripe and full and ever\ngiving of your abundance.\u201d\n\nFor to the fruit giving is a need, as\nreceiving is a need to the root.\n\n*****\n\nYou are good when you are fully awake in\nyour speech,\n\nYet you are not evil when you sleep\nwhile your tongue staggers without\npurpose.\n\nAnd even stumbling speech may strengthen\na weak tongue.\n\nYou are good when you walk to your goal\nfirmly and with bold steps.\n\nYet you are not evil when you go thither\nlimping.\n\nEven those who limp go not backward.\n\nBut you who are strong and swift, see\nthat you do not limp before the lame,\ndeeming it kindness.\n\n*****\n\nYou are good in countless ways, and you\nare not evil when you are not good,\n\nYou are only loitering and sluggard.\n\nPity that the stags cannot teach\nswiftness to the turtles.\n\nIn your longing for your giant self lies\nyour goodness: and that longing is in\nall of you.\n\nBut in some of you that longing is a\ntorrent rushing with might to the sea,\ncarrying the secrets of the hillsides\nand the songs of the forest.\n\nAnd in others it is a flat stream that\nloses itself in angles and bends and\nlingers before it reaches the shore.\n\nBut let not him who longs much say to\nhim who longs little, \u201cWherefore are\nyou slow and halting?\u201d\n\nFor the truly good ask not the naked,\n\u201cWhere is your garment?\u201d nor the\nhouseless, \u201cWhat has befallen your\nhouse?\u201d\n\n***** *****\n\nThen a priestess said, Speak to us\nof _Prayer_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nYou pray in your distress and in your\nneed; would that you might pray also\nin the fullness of your joy and in your\ndays of abundance.\n\nFor what is prayer but the expansion of\nyourself into the living ether?\n\nAnd if it is for your comfort to pour\nyour darkness into space, it is also for\nyour delight to pour forth the dawning\nof your heart.\n\nAnd if you cannot but weep when your\nsoul summons you to prayer, she should\nspur you again and yet again, though\nweeping, until you shall come laughing.\n\nWhen you pray you rise to meet in the\nair those who are praying at that very\nhour, and whom save in prayer you\nmay not meet.\n\nTherefore let your visit to that temple\ninvisible be for naught but ecstasy and\nsweet communion.\n\nFor if you should enter the temple for\nno other purpose than asking you shall\nnot receive:\n\nAnd if you should enter into it to\nhumble yourself you shall not be lifted:\n\nOr even if you should enter into it to\nbeg for the good of others you shall not\nbe heard.\n\nIt is enough that you enter the temple\ninvisible.\n\n*****\n\nI cannot teach you how to pray in words.\n\nGod listens not to your words save when\nHe Himself utters them through your\nlips.\n\nAnd I cannot teach you the prayer of the\nseas and the forests and the mountains.\n\nBut you who are born of the\nmountains and the forests and the seas\ncan find their prayer in your heart,\n\nAnd if you but listen in the stillness\nof the night you shall hear them saying\nin silence,\n\n\u201cOur God, who art our winged self, it is\nthy will in us that willeth.\n\nIt is thy desire in us that desireth.\n\nIt is thy urge in us that would turn our\nnights, which are thine, into days which\nare thine also.\n\nWe cannot ask thee for aught, for thou\nknowest our needs before they are born\nin us:\n\nThou art our need; and in giving us more\nof thyself thou givest us all.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: 0100]\n\n***** *****\n\nThen a hermit, who visited the city\nonce a year, came forth and said, Speak\nto us of _Pleasure_.\n\nAnd he answered, saying:\n\nPleasure is a freedom-song,\n\nBut it is not freedom.\n\nIt is the blossoming of your desires,\n\nBut it is not their fruit.\n\nIt is a depth calling unto a height,\n\nBut it is not the deep nor the high.\n\nIt is the caged taking wing,\n\nBut it is not space encompassed.\n\nAy, in very truth, pleasure is a\nfreedom-song.\n\nAnd I fain would have you sing it with\nfullness of heart; yet I would not have\nyou lose your hearts in the singing.\n\nSome of your youth seek pleasure as if\nit were all, and they are judged and\nrebuked.\n\nI would not judge nor\nrebuke them. I would have them seek.\n\nFor they shall find pleasure, but not\nher alone;\n\nSeven are her sisters, and the least of\nthem is more beautiful than pleasure.\n\nHave you not heard of the man who was\ndigging in the earth for roots and found\na treasure?\n\n*****\n\nAnd some of your elders remember\npleasures with regret like wrongs\ncommitted in drunkenness.\n\nBut regret is the beclouding of the mind\nand not its chastisement.\n\nThey should remember their pleasures\nwith gratitude, as they would the\nharvest of a summer.\n\nYet if it comforts them to regret, let\nthem be comforted.\n\nAnd there are among you those who\nare neither young to seek nor old to\nremember;\n\nAnd in their fear of seeking and\nremembering they shun all pleasures,\nlest they neglect the spirit or offend\nagainst it.\n\nBut even in their foregoing is their\npleasure.\n\nAnd thus they too find a treasure though\nthey dig for roots with quivering hands.\n\nBut tell me, who is he that can offend\nthe spirit?\n\nShall the nightingale offend the\nstillness of the night, or the firefly\nthe stars?\n\nAnd shall your flame or your smoke\nburden the wind?\n\nThink you the spirit is a still pool\nwhich you can trouble with a staff?\n\n*****\n\nOftentimes in denying yourself pleasure\nyou do but store the desire in the\nrecesses of your being.\n\nWho knows but that which seems omitted\ntoday, waits for tomorrow?\n\nEven your body knows its heritage\nand its rightful need and will not be\ndeceived.\n\nAnd your body is the harp of your soul,\n\nAnd it is yours to bring forth sweet\nmusic from it or confused sounds.\n\n*****\n\nAnd now you ask in your heart, \u201cHow\nshall we distinguish that which is\ngood in pleasure from that which is not\ngood?\u201d\n\nGo to your fields and your gardens, and\nyou shall learn that it is the pleasure\nof the bee to gather honey of the\nflower,\n\nBut it is also the pleasure of the\nflower to yield its honey to the bee.\n\nFor to the bee a flower is a fountain of\nlife,\n\nAnd to the flower a bee is a messenger\nof love,\n\nAnd to both, bee and flower, the giving\nand the receiving of pleasure is a need\nand an ecstasy.\n\nPeople of Orphalese, be in your\npleasures like the flowers and the bees.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd a poet said, Speak to us of\n_Beauty_.\n\nAnd he answered:\n\nWhere shall you seek beauty, and how\nshall you find her unless she herself be\nyour way and your guide?\n\nAnd how shall you speak of her except\nshe be the weaver of your speech?\n\nThe aggrieved and the injured say,\n\u201cBeauty is kind and gentle.\n\nLike a young mother half-shy of her own\nglory she walks among us.\u201d\n\nAnd the passionate say, \u201cNay, beauty is\na thing of might and dread.\n\nLike the tempest she shakes the earth\nbeneath us and the sky above us.\u201d\n\nThe tired and the weary say, \u201cBeauty is\nof soft whisperings. She speaks in our\nspirit.\n\nHer voice yields to our\nsilences like a faint light that quivers\nin fear of the shadow.\u201d\n\nBut the restless say, \u201cWe have heard her\nshouting among the mountains,\n\nAnd with her cries came the sound of\nhoofs, and the beating of wings and the\nroaring of lions.\u201d\n\nAt night the watchmen of the city say,\n\u201cBeauty shall rise with the dawn from\nthe east.\u201d\n\nAnd at noontide the toilers and the\nwayfarers say, \u201cWe have seen her leaning\nover the earth from the windows of the\nsunset.\u201d\n\n*****\n\nIn winter say the snow-bound, \u201cShe shall\ncome with the spring leaping upon the\nhills.\u201d\n\nAnd in the summer heat the reapers\nsay, \u201cWe have seen her dancing with the\nautumn leaves, and we saw a drift of\nsnow in her hair.\u201d\n\nAll these things have you said of beauty,\n\nYet in truth you spoke not of her but of\nneeds unsatisfied,\n\nAnd beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.\n\nIt is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty\nhand stretched forth,\n\nBut rather a heart enflamed and a soul\nenchanted.\n\nIt is not the image you would see nor\nthe song you would hear,\n\nBut rather an image you see though you\nclose your eyes and a song you hear\nthough you shut your ears.\n\nIt is not the sap within the furrowed\nbark, nor a wing attached to a claw,\n\nBut rather a garden for ever in bloom\nand a flock of angels for ever in\nflight.\n\n*****\n\nPeople of Orphalese, beauty is life when\nlife unveils her holy face.\n\nBut you are life and you are the veil.\n\nBeauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.\n\nBut you are eternity and you are the\nmirror.\n\n***** *****\n\nAnd an old priest said, Speak to us\nof _Religion_.\n\nAnd he said:\n\nHave I spoken this day of aught else?\n\nIs not religion all deeds and all\nreflection,\n\nAnd that which is neither deed nor\nreflection, but a wonder and a surprise\never springing in the soul, even while\nthe hands hew the stone or tend the\nloom?\n\nWho can separate his faith from\nhis actions, or his belief from his\noccupations?\n\nWho can spread his hours before him,\nsaying, \u201cThis for God and this for\nmyself; This for my soul, and this other\nfor my body?\u201d\n\nAll your hours are wings that beat\nthrough space from self to self.\n\nHe who wears his morality but as his best\ngarment were better naked.\n\nThe wind and the sun will tear no holes\nin his skin.\n\nAnd he who defines his conduct by ethics\nimprisons his song-bird in a cage.\n\nThe freest song comes not through bars\nand wires.\n\nAnd he to whom worshipping is a window,\nto open but also to shut, has not yet\nvisited the house of his soul whose\nwindows are from dawn to dawn.\n\n*****\n\nYour daily life is your temple and your\nreligion.\n\nWhenever you enter into it take with you\nyour all.\n\nTake the plough and the forge and the\nmallet and the lute,\n\nThe things you have fashioned in\nnecessity or for delight.\n\nFor in revery you cannot rise above your\nachievements nor fall lower than your\nfailures.\n\nAnd take with you all men:\n\nFor in adoration you cannot fly higher than\ntheir hopes nor humble yourself lower\nthan their despair.\n\n*****\n\nAnd if you would know God be not\ntherefore a solver of riddles.\n\nRather look about you and you shall see\nHim playing with your children.\n\nAnd look into space; you shall see Him\nwalking in the cloud, outstretching His\narms in the lightning and descending in\nrain.\n\nYou shall see Him smiling in flowers,\nthen rising and waving His hands in\ntrees.\n\n***** *****\n\nThen Almitra spoke, saying, We would ask now of _Death_.\n\nAnd he said:\n\nYou would know the secret of death.\n\nBut how shall you find it unless you\nseek it in the heart of life?\n\nThe owl whose night-bound eyes are blind\nunto the day cannot unveil the mystery\nof light.\n\nIf you would indeed behold the spirit\nof death, open your heart wide unto the\nbody of life.\n\nFor life and death are one, even as the\nriver and the sea are one.\n\nIn the depth of your hopes and desires\nlies your silent knowledge of the\nbeyond;\n\nAnd like seeds dreaming beneath the snow\nyour heart dreams of spring.\n\nTrust the dreams, for in them is hidden\nthe gate to eternity.\n\nYour fear of death is but the trembling of the\nshepherd when he stands before the king\nwhose hand is to be laid upon him in\nhonour.\n\nIs the shepherd not joyful beneath his\ntrembling, that he shall wear the mark\nof the king?\n\nYet is he not more mindful of his\ntrembling?\n\n*****\n\nFor what is it to die but to stand naked\nin the wind and to melt into the sun?\n\nAnd what is it to cease breathing, but\nto free the breath from its restless\ntides, that it may rise and expand and\nseek God unencumbered?\n\nOnly when you drink from the river of\nsilence shall you indeed sing.\n\nAnd when you have reached the mountain\ntop, then you shall begin to climb.\n\nAnd when the earth shall claim your\nlimbs, then shall you truly dance.\n\n\n\n\nAnd now it was evening.\n\nAnd Almitra the seeress said, Blessed be\nthis day and this place and your spirit\nthat has spoken.\n\nAnd he answered, Was it I who spoke? Was\nI not also a listener?\n\n*****\n\nThen he descended the steps of the\nTemple and all the people followed him.\nAnd he reached his ship and stood upon\nthe deck.\n\nAnd facing the people again, he raised\nhis voice and said:\n\nPeople of Orphalese, the wind bids me\nleave you.\n\nLess hasty am I than the wind, yet I\nmust go.\n\nWe wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier\nway, begin no day where we have ended\nanother day; and no sunrise finds us\nwhere sunset left us.\n\nEven while the earth sleeps we travel.\n\nWe are the seeds of the tenacious\nplant, and it is in our ripeness and our\nfullness of heart that we are given to\nthe wind and are scattered.\n\n*****\n\nBrief were my days among you, and\nbriefer still the words I have spoken.\n\nBut should my voice fade in your ears,\nand my love vanish in your memory, then\nI will come again,\n\nAnd with a richer heart and lips more\nyielding to the spirit will I speak.\n\nYea, I shall return with the tide,\n\nAnd though death may hide me, and the\ngreater silence enfold me, yet again\nwill I seek your understanding.\n\nAnd not in vain will I seek.\n\nIf aught I have said is truth, that\ntruth shall reveal itself in a clearer\nvoice, and in words more kin to your\nthoughts.\n\nI go with the wind, people of\nOrphalese, but not down into emptiness;\n\nAnd if this day is not a fulfilment\nof your needs and my love, then let it\nbe a promise till another day.\n\nMan\u2019s needs change, but not his love,\nnor his desire that his love should\nsatisfy his needs.\n\nKnow therefore, that from the greater\nsilence I shall return.\n\nThe mist that drifts away at dawn,\nleaving but dew in the fields, shall\nrise and gather into a cloud and then\nfall down in rain.\n\nAnd not unlike the mist have I been.\n\nIn the stillness of the night I have\nwalked in your streets, and my spirit\nhas entered your houses,\n\nAnd your heart-beats were in my heart,\nand your breath was upon my face, and I\nknew you all.\n\nAy, I knew your joy and your pain,\nand in your sleep your dreams were my\ndreams.\n\nAnd oftentimes I was among you a lake\namong the mountains.\n\nI mirrored the summits in you and the\nbending slopes, and even the\npassing flocks of your thoughts and your\ndesires.\n\nAnd to my silence came the laughter\nof your children in streams, and the\nlonging of your youths in rivers.\n\nAnd when they reached my depth the\nstreams and the rivers ceased not yet to\nsing.\n\n[Illustration: 0119]\n\nBut sweeter still than laughter and\ngreater than longing came to me.\n\nIt was the boundless in you;\n\nThe vast man in whom you are all but\ncells and sinews;\n\nHe in whose chant all your singing is\nbut a soundless throbbing.\n\nIt is in the vast man that you are vast,\n\nAnd in beholding him that I beheld you\nand loved you.\n\nFor what distances can love reach that\nare not in that vast sphere?\n\nWhat visions, what expectations and what\npresumptions can outsoar that flight?\n\nLike a giant oak tree covered with apple\nblossoms is the vast man in you.\n\nHis might binds you to the earth, his\nfragrance lifts you into space, and in\nhis durability you are deathless.\n\n*****\n\nYou have been told that, even like a\nchain, you are as weak as your weakest\nlink.\n\nThis is but half the truth. You are also\nas strong as your strongest link.\n\nTo measure you by your smallest deed\nis to reckon the power of ocean by the\nfrailty of its foam.\n\nTo judge you by your failures is to\ncast blame upon the seasons for their\ninconstancy.\n\nAy, you are like an ocean,\n\nAnd though heavy-grounded ships await\nthe tide upon your shores, yet, even\nlike an ocean, you cannot hasten your\ntides.\n\nAnd like the seasons you are also,\n\nAnd though in your winter you deny your\nspring,\n\nYet spring, reposing within you, smiles\nin her drowsiness and is not offended.\n\nThink not I say these things in\norder that you may say the one to the\nother, \u201cHe praised us well. He saw but\nthe good in us.\u201d\n\nI only speak to you in words of that\nwhich you yourselves know in thought.\n\nAnd what is word knowledge but a shadow\nof wordless knowledge?\n\nYour thoughts and my words are waves\nfrom a sealed memory that keeps records\nof our yesterdays,\n\nAnd of the ancient days when the earth\nknew not us nor herself,\n\nAnd of nights when earth was up-wrought\nwith confusion.\n\n*****\n\nWise men have come to you to give you\nof their wisdom. I came to take of your\nwisdom:\n\nAnd behold I have found that which is\ngreater than wisdom.\n\nIt is a flame spirit in you ever\ngathering more of itself,\n\nWhile you, heedless of its expansion,\nbewail the withering of your days.\n\nIt is life in quest of life in\nbodies that fear the grave.\n\n*****\n\nThere are no graves here.\n\nThese mountains and plains are a cradle\nand a stepping-stone.\n\nWhenever you pass by the field where\nyou have laid your ancestors look well\nthereupon, and you shall see yourselves\nand your children dancing hand in hand.\n\nVerily you often make merry without\nknowing.\n\nOthers have come to you to whom for\ngolden promises made unto your faith\nyou have given but riches and power and\nglory.\n\nLess than a promise have I given, and\nyet more generous have you been to me.\n\nYou have given me my deeper thirsting\nafter life.\n\nSurely there is no greater gift to a man\nthan that which turns all his aims\ninto parching lips and all life into a\nfountain.\n\n[Illustration: 0125]\n\nAnd in this lies my honour and my reward,--\n\nThat whenever I come to the fountain\nto drink I find the living water itself\nthirsty;\n\nAnd it drinks me while I drink it.\n\n*****\n\nSome of you have deemed me proud and\nover-shy to receive gifts.\n\nToo proud indeed am I to receive wages,\nbut not gifts.\n\nAnd though I have eaten berries among\nthe hills when you would have had me sit\nat your board,\n\nAnd slept in the portico of the temple\nwhen you would gladly have sheltered me,\n\nYet was it not your loving mindfulness\nof my days and my nights that made food\nsweet to my mouth and girdled my sleep\nwith visions?\n\nFor this I bless you most:\n\nYou give much and know not that you give\nat all.\n\nVerily the kindness that gazes upon itself in a mirror turns to\nstone,\n\nAnd a good deed that calls itself by\ntender names becomes the parent to a\ncurse.\n\n*****\n\nAnd some of you have called me aloof,\nand drunk with my own aloneness,\n\nAnd you have said, \u201cHe holds council\nwith the trees of the forest, but not\nwith men.\n\nHe sits alone on hill-tops and looks\ndown upon our city.\u201d\n\nTrue it is that I have climbed the hills\nand walked in remote places.\n\nHow could I have seen you save from a\ngreat height or a great distance?\n\nHow can one be indeed near unless he be\nfar?\n\nAnd others among you called unto me, not\nin words, and they said,\n\n\u201cStranger, stranger, lover of\nunreachable heights, why dwell you among\nthe summits where eagles build\ntheir nests?\n\nWhy seek you the unattainable?\n\nWhat storms would you trap in your net,\n\nAnd what vaporous birds do you hunt in\nthe sky?\n\nCome and be one of us.\n\nDescend and appease your hunger with our\nbread and quench your thirst with our\nwine.\u201d\n\nIn the solitude of their souls they said\nthese things;\n\nBut were their solitude deeper they\nwould have known that I sought but the\nsecret of your joy and your pain,\n\nAnd I hunted only your larger selves\nthat walk the sky.\n\n*****\n\nBut the hunter was also the hunted;\n\nFor many of my arrows left my bow only\nto seek my own breast.\n\nAnd the flier was also the creeper;\n\nFor when my wings were spread in the\nsun their shadow upon the earth was a\nturtle.\n\nAnd I the believer was also the doubter;\n\nFor often have I put my finger\nin my own wound that I might have the\ngreater belief in you and the greater\nknowledge of you.\n\n*****\n\nAnd it is with this belief and this\nknowledge that I say,\n\nYou are not enclosed within your bodies,\nnor confined to houses or fields.\n\nThat which is you dwells above the\nmountain and roves with the wind.\n\nIt is not a thing that crawls into\nthe sun for warmth or digs holes into\ndarkness for safety,\n\nBut a thing free, a spirit that envelops\nthe earth and moves in the ether.\n\nIf these be vague words, then seek not\nto clear them.\n\nVague and nebulous is the beginning of\nall things, but not their end,\n\nAnd I fain would have you remember me as\na beginning.\n\nLife, and all that lives, is conceived\nin the mist and not in the crystal.\n\nAnd who knows but a crystal is mist in decay?\n\n*****\n\nThis would I have you remember in\nremembering me:\n\nThat which seems most feeble and\nbewildered in you is the strongest and\nmost determined.\n\nIs it not your breath that has erected\nand hardened the structure of your\nbones?\n\nAnd is it not a dream which none of you\nremember having dreamt, that builded\nyour city and fashioned all there is in\nit?\n\nCould you but see the tides of that\nbreath you would cease to see all else,\n\nAnd if you could hear the whispering of\nthe dream you would hear no other sound.\n\nBut you do not see, nor do you hear, and\nit is well.\n\nThe veil that clouds your eyes shall be\nlifted by the hands that wove it,\n\nAnd the clay that fills your ears shall\nbe pierced by those fingers that kneaded\nit.\n\nAnd you shall see.\n\nAnd you shall hear.\n\nYet you shall not deplore having known\nblindness, nor regret having been deaf.\n\nFor in that day you shall know the\nhidden purposes in all things,\n\nAnd you shall bless darkness as you\nwould bless light.\n\nAfter saying these things he looked\nabout him, and he saw the pilot of his\nship standing by the helm and gazing\nnow at the full sails and now at the\ndistance.\n\nAnd he said:\n\nPatient, over patient, is the captain of\nmy ship.\n\nThe wind blows, and restless are the\nsails;\n\nEven the rudder begs direction;\n\nYet quietly my captain awaits my\nsilence.\n\nAnd these my mariners, who have heard\nthe choir of the greater sea, they too\nhave heard me patiently.\n\nNow they shall wait no longer.\n\nI am ready.\n\nThe stream has reached the sea, and\nonce more the great mother holds her son\nagainst her breast.\n\n*****\n\nFare you well, people of Orphalese.\n\nThis day has ended.\n\nIt is closing upon us even as the\nwater-lily upon its own tomorrow.\n\nWhat was given us here we shall keep,\n\nAnd if it suffices not, then again must\nwe come together and together stretch\nour hands unto the giver.\n\nForget not that I shall come back to\nyou.\n\nA little while, and my longing shall\ngather dust and foam for another body.\n\nA little while, a moment of rest upon\nthe wind, and another woman shall bear\nme.\n\nFarewell to you and the youth I have\nspent with you.\n\nIt was but yesterday we met in a\ndream.\n\nYou have sung to me in my\naloneness, and I of your longings have\nbuilt a tower in the sky.\n\nBut now our sleep has fled and our dream\nis over, and it is no longer dawn.\n\nThe noontide is upon us and our half\nwaking has turned to fuller day, and we\nmust part.\n\nIf in the twilight of memory we should\nmeet once more, we shall speak again\ntogether and you shall sing to me a\ndeeper song.\n\nAnd if our hands should meet in another\ndream we shall build another tower in\nthe sky.\n\n*****\n\nSo saying he made a signal to the\nseamen, and straightway they weighed\nanchor and cast the ship loose from its\nmoorings, and they moved eastward.\n\nAnd a cry came from the people as from a\nsingle heart, and it rose into the dusk\nand was carried out over the sea like a\ngreat trumpeting.\n\nOnly Almitra was silent, gazing after\nthe ship until it had vanished into\nthe mist.\n\nAnd when all the people were dispersed\nshe still stood alone upon the sea-wall,\nremembering in her heart his saying,\n\n\u201cA little while, a moment of rest upon\nthe wind, and another woman shall bear\nme.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: 0134]","title":"The Prophet","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":12603}