Khalil Gibran – Children Chapter IV

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 

"Speak to us of Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

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

They come through you but not from you,

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

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, 

Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

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

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

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

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 

And He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

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

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, 

So He loves also the bow that is stable.

Khalil Gibran – Death XXVII

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

And he said:

You would know the secret of death.

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

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

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, 

Open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, 

Even as the river and the sea are one.

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

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

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

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before 

The king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, 

That he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

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

And what is to cease breathing, 

But to free the breath from its restless tides, 

That it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

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

And when you have reached the mountain top, 

Then you shall begin to climb.

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

Kahlil Gibran – Self-Knowledge XVII

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

And he answered, saying:

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

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

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

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

And it is well you should.

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

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

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

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

For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

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

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

For the soul walks upon all paths.

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

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

Kahlil Gibran – Song of the Soul XXII

In the depth of my soul there is

A wordless song - a song that lives

In the seed of my heart.

It refuses to melt with ink on

Parchment; it engulfs my affection

In a transparent cloak and flows,

But not upon my lips.

How can I sigh it? I fear it may

Mingle with earthly ether;

To whom shall I sing it? It dwells

In the house of my soul, in fear of

Harsh ears.

When I look into my inner eyes

I see the shadow of its shadow;

When I touch my fingertips

I feel its vibrations.

The deeds of my hands heed its

Presence as a lake must reflect

The glittering stars; my tears

Reveal it, as bright drops of dew

Reveal the secret of a withering rose.

It is a song composed by contemplation,

And published by silence,

And shunned by clamor,

And folded by truth,

And repeated by dreams,

And understood by love,

And hidden by awakening,

And sung by the soul.

It is the song of love;

What Cain or Esau could sing it?

It is more fragrant than jasmine;

What voice could enslave it?

It is heartbound, as a virgin's secret;

What string could quiver it?

Who dares unite the roar of the sea

And the singing of the nightingale?

Who dares compare the shrieking tempest

To the sigh of an infant?

Who dares speak aloud the words

Intended for the heart to speak?

What human dares sing in voice

The song of God?

Kahlil Gibran – Song of Man XXV

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.

I was on Sinai when Jehovah approached Moses;

I saw the Nazarene's miracles at the Jordan;

I was in Medina when Mohammed visited.

Yet I 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.

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 great 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 of world, for there is no

Ending to my grief-stricken being.