Work

By Kahlil Gibran from The Prophet

You work 
that you may keep pace 
with the earth 
and the 
Soul of the earth 
For to be idle 
is to become a stranger 
unto the seasons, 
and to step 
out of life`s procession 
that marches in majesty 
and proud submission 
towards the infinite 
When you work 
you are a flute 
through whose heart 
the whispering of the hours 
turns to music 
Which of you 
would be a reed 
dumb and silent, 
when all else sings 
together 
in unison 
Always 
you have been told 
that work is a curse 
and labour a misfortune 
But I say to you 
that when you work 
you fulfill a part 
of earth`s furthest dream, 
assigned to you 
when that dream 
was born. 
And in keeping yourself 
with labour 
is to be intimate 
with life`s innermost secret 
But if you in your pain 
call birth an affliction 
and the support of the flesh 
a curse 
written upon your brow, 
then I answer that 
naught but the sweat 
of your brow 
shall wash away 
that which is written 
You have been told also 
that life is darkness, 
and in your weariness 
you echo 
what was said by 
the weary. 
And I say that life is indeed 
darkness 
save when 
there is urge. 
And all urge is blind 
save when there is 
knowledge. 
And all knowledge 
is vain 
save when there is 
work. 
And all work 
is empty 
save when there is 
love. 
And when you work 
with love 
your bind yourself 
to yourself, 
and to one another, 
and to God. 
And what is it to work with love?
It is to weave the cloth 
with threads drawn 
from your heart, 
even as if your beloved 
were to wear that cloth. 
It is to build 
a house 
with affection, 
even as if your beloved 
were to dwell in that house. 
It is to sow seeds 
with tenderness 
and reap the harvest 
with joy, 
even as if your beloved 
were to eat the fruit. 
It is to charge all things 
you fashion 
with a breath 
of your own spirit. 
And to know 
that all the blessed dead 
are standing about you 
and watching. 
Often have I heard you say, 
as if speaking in sleep, 
He who works in marble, 
and finds the shape 
of his own soul 
in the stone, 
is nobler than he 
who ploughs the soil.
And he who seizes the rainbow 
to lay it on a cloth 
in the likeness of man, 
is more than he 
who makes the sandals 
for our feet.
But I say, 
not in sleep, 
but in the overwakefulness 
of noontide, 
that the wind 
speaks not more sweetly 
to the giant oaks 
than to the least 
of all the blades of grass. 
And he alone is great 
who turns the voice 
of the wind 
into a song made sweeter 
by his own loving. 
Work is love made visible.
And if you cannot work 
with love 
but only with 
distaste, 
it is better than you should 
leave your work 
and sit at the gate 
of the temple 
and take alms of those 
who work with joy. 
For if you bake bread 
with indifference, 
you bake a bitter bread 
that feeds but half 
man`s hunger. 
And if you grudge 
the crushing of the grapes, 
your grudge distils 
a poison in the wine. 
And if you sing 
though as angels, 
and love not the singing, 
you muffle man`s ears 
to the 
voices of the day 
and the 
voices of the night. 

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