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    The Prophet
    The Prophet
    The Prophet
    Ebook70 pages2 hours

    The Prophet

    By Khalil Gibran

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    About this ebook

    The Prophet is a book of 26 poetic essays written in English in 1923 by the Lebanese-American artist, philosopher and writer Khalil Gibran. In the book, the prophet Almustafa who has lived in the foreign city of Orphalese for 12 years is about to board a ship which will carry him home. He is stopped by a group of people, with whom he discusses many issues of life and the human condition. The book is divided into chapters dealing with love, marriage, children, giving, eating and drinking, work, joy and sorrow, houses, clothes, buying and selling, crime and punishment, laws, freedom, reason and passion, pain, self-knowledge, teaching, friendship, talking, time, good and evil, prayer, pleasure, beauty, religion, and death.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArthur Wallens
    Release dateNov 24, 2017
    ISBN9782377938827

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      Book preview

      The Prophet - Khalil Gibran

      Farewell

      Chapter 1

      The Coming of the Ship

      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, sleeping 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 I shall 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 slough 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

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