Peace

by Khalil Gibran

The tempest calmed after bending the branches of the trees and leaning heavily upon the grain in the field. The stars appeared as broken remnants of lightning, but now silence prevailed over all, as if Nature's war had never been fought. 

At that hour a young woman entered her chamber and knelt by her bed sobbing bitterly. Her heart flamed with agony but she could finally open her lips and say, "Oh Lord, bring him home safely to me. I have exhausted my tears and can offer no more, oh Lord, full of love and mercy. My patience is drained and calamity is seeking possession of my heart. Save him, oh Lord, from the iron paws of War; deliver him from such unmerciful Death, for he is weak, governed by the strong. Oh Lord, save my beloved, who is Thine own son, from the foe, who is Thy foe. Keep him from the forced pathway to Death's door; let him see me, or come and take me to him." 

Quietly a young man entered. His head was wrapped in bandage soaked with escaping life. 

He approached he with a greeting of tears and laughter, then took her hand and placed against it his flaming lips. And with a voice with bespoke past sorrow, and joy of union, and uncertainty of her reaction, he said, "Fear me not, for I am the object of your plea. Be glad, for Peace has carried me back safely to you, and humanity has restored what greed essayed to take from us. Be not sad, but smile, my beloved. Do not express bewilderment, for Love has power that dispels Death; charm that conquers the enemy. I am your one. Think me not a specter emerging from the House of Death to visit your Home of Beauty. 

"Do not be frightened, for I am now Truth, spared from swords and fire to reveal to the people the triumph of Love over War. I am Word uttering introduction to the play of happiness and peace." 

Then the young man became speechless and his tears spoke the language of the heart; and the angels of Joy hovered about that dwelling, and the two hearts restored the singleness which had been taken from them. 

At dawn the two stood in the middle of the field contemplating the beauty of Nature injured by the tempest. After a deep and comforting silence, the soldier said to his sweetheart, "Look at the Darkness, giving birth to the Sun." 

Beauty

And a poet said, 'Speak to us of Beauty.' 

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? 

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? 

The aggrieved and the injured say, 'Beauty is kind and gentle. 

Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.' 

And the passionate say, 'Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. 

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.' 

The tired and the weary say, 'beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. 

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.' 

But the restless say, 'We have heard her shouting among the mountains, 

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.' 

At night the watchmen of the city say, 'Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east.' 

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, 'we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.' 

In winter say the snow-bound, 'She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.' 

And in the summer heat the reapers say, 'We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.' 

All these things have you said of beauty. 

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, 

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. 

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, 

But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. 

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, 

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. 

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, 

But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. 

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. 

But you are life and you are the veil. 

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. 

But you are eternity and you are the mirror. 

On Pain

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses 

your understanding. 

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its 

heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. 

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the 

daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem 

less wondrous than your joy; 

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, 

even as you have always accepted the seasons that 

pass over your fields. 

And you would watch with serenity through the 

winters of your grief. 

Much of your pain is self-chosen. 

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within 

you heals your sick self. 

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy 

in silence and tranquillity: 

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by 

the tender hand of the Unseen, 

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has 

been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has 

moistened with His own sacred tears.