Secrets of the Heart pdf Kahlil Gibran Free Download

When abused, it

Is the purveyor of misery and the

Omen of danger and the dark cloud

Of blackness. If humanity were to

Lead love’s cavalcade to a bed of

Faithless motive, then love there

Would decline to abide. Love is a

Beautiful bird, begging capture,

But refusing injury.

Youth: The field fights not to acquire

The throne of love, for love and

Beauty abide forever and in peace

And in bounty in the field. Love,

When sought out, is an ailment

Between the flesh and the bone,

And only when youth has passed

Does the pain bring rich and

Sorrowful knowledge.

Give me the flute and let me sing,

And through my soul let music ring;

For song is the arm of love

Descending in beauty from God above.

Age: The youth who is visited by a great

Love through the truth of the light

Of heaven, and in whom thirst and

Hunger rage to protect that love,

Is the true child of God. And yet

The people say, “He is insane! He

Profits not from love, and the one

He loves is far from beauty, and

His pain and woe avail him naught!”

Pity those ignorants! Their spirits

Were dead before they were born on

Labour’s bed!

Youth: No sentry or blamer abides in the

Field, and no secret is withheld

By Nature. The gazelle capers in

Merriment at eventide and the

Eagle never utters smile or frown,

But all things in the field are

Heard and known and seen.

Give me the flute and let me sing,

And through my soul let music ring;

For music is the heart’s great bliss,

From heaven a joy, from God a kiss.

Age: We forget the greatness of the

Invader but remember e’er his rage

And madness. From the heart of

Alexander lust grew strong, and

Through the soul of Kais ignorance

Was defeated. The triumph of

Alexander was naught but defeat;

The torture of Kais was triumph

And glory. Through the spirit,

Not the body, love must be shown,

As it is to enliven, not to deaden,

That the wine is pressed.

Youth: The memories of the lover hover

In the field, but the deeds of

A tyrant ne’er bring a thought,

For his crime is recorded in

History’s book. For love, all of

Existence is an eternal shrine.

Give me the flute and let me sing,

And through my soul let music ring;

Forget the cruelty of the strong,

To Nature alone all things belong;

The lillies were made as cups for dew

Not for blood or potions new.

Age: Happiness on earth is but a fleet,

Passing ghost, which man craves

At any cost in gold or time. And

When the phantom becomes the

Reality, man soon wearies of it.

The river runs like the racing

Stallion, swirling on the plain,

Turning it to dust. Man endeavours

That his body provide the things

Prohibited; and when gotten, the

Desire then subsides. When you

Behold a man turning aside from

Things forbidden that bring

Abysmal crime to self, look

Upon him with eyes of love, for

He is a preserver of God in him.

Youth: Empty and barren of hope and care

Is the beautiful field; it gives

No heed to desire, and craves not

For part of any thing, for God

Almighty has provided her with all.

Give me the flute and let me sing,

And through my soul let music ring;

Singing is love and hope and desire,

The moaning flute is the light and fire.

Age: The purpose of the spirit in the

Heart is concealed, and by outer

Appearance cannot be judged. One

Often says, “When the soul has

Reached perfection, then from

Life it is released, for if the

Soul were fruit, then when ripe

It would fall from the tree by

The strength of God’s wind.” And

Another adds, “When the body rests

In death the soul will depart it,

As the shadow on the lake vanishes

As the searing heat dries its bed.”

But the spirit is not born to

Perish, but ever will thrive and

Flourish. For even as the north

Wind blows and folds the flower

To earth, so comes the south wind

To restore its beauty.

Youth: The field distinguishes not the

Body from the soul. The sea and

The fog and the dew and the mist

Are all but one, whether clouded

Or clear.

Give me the flute and let me sing,

And through my soul let music ring;

For song is all of body and soul,

From the rich depth of the golden bowl.

Age: The body is the womb for the

Soul’s tranquility, and there it

Rests until light is born. The

Soul is an embryo in the body of

Man, and the day of death is the

Day of awakening, for it is the

Great era of labour and the rich

Hour of creation. But cruelty’s

Barrenness accompanies man, and

Intrudes upon the fertility of

The soul’s mind. How many flowers

Possess no fragrance from the day

Of their birth! How many clouds

Gather in the sky, barren of rain,

Dropping no pearls!

Youth: No soul is barren in the good

Field, and intruders cannot

Invade our peace. The seed which

The ripe date contains in its

Heart is the secret of the palm

Tree from the beginning of all

Creation.

Give me the flute and let me sing,

And through my soul let music ring;

For music is a heart that grows

With love, and like the spring it flows.

Age: Death is an ending to the son of

The earth, but to the soul it is

The start, the triumph of life.

He who embraces the dawn of truth

With his inner eyes will ever be

Ecstatic, like the murmuring brook,

But he who slumbers through the

Light of heaven’s day must perish

In the eternal darkness he loves.

If to earth one clings when awake,

And if he caresses Nature who is

Close to God, then this child of

God will cross the valley of death

As though crossing but a narrow

Stream.

Youth: There is no death in the good

Field, or graves for burial or

Prayers to read. When Nisan

Departs, the joy continues to

Live, for death removes but the

Touch, and not the awareness of

All good. And he who has lived

One spring or more possesses the

Spiritual life of one who has

Lived a score of springs.

Give me the flute and let me sing,

And through my soul let music ring;

For music opens the secret of life,

Bringing peace, abolishing strife.

Age: The field has much, man has but

Little. Man is the spirit of his

Creator on earth, and all of the

Field is made for man, but man by

His own choice flees from the nearby

Love and Beauty of God which is the

Beautiful field.

Youth: Give me the flute and let me sing;

Forget what we said about everything.

Talk is but dust, speckling the

Ether and losing itself in the vast

Firmament. What have you done that

Is good? Why do you not adopt the

Field as your heavenly shelter? Why

Do you not desert the palace of the

Noisome city and climb the knolls and

Pursue the stream, and breathe of the

Fragrance, and revel with the sun?

Why do you not drink dawn’s wine from

Her great cup of wisdom, and ponder

The clusters of fine fruit of the

Vine, hanging like golden chandeliers?

Why do you not fashion a blanket of

The endless sky, and a bed of the

Flowers from which to view the land

Of God? Why do you not renounce the

Future and forget the past? Have you

No desire to live as you were born

To live?

* * * * * *

Banish your misery and leave all

Things of substance, for society

Is of naught but clamour and woe

And strife. She is but the web of

The spider, the tunnel of the mole.

Nature will greet you as one of

Her own, and all that is good will

Exist for you. The child of the

Field is the child of God.

Age: To abide in the field is my hope

And my longing and my desire, and

For such life of beauty and peace

I beg. But the iron will of fate

Has placed me in the lap of the

City, and man possesses a destiny

Which impels his thoughts and

Actions and words, and that not

Sufficing, directs his footsteps to

A place of unwilling abode.

END

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