The widow and her son 
by Gibran Khalil Gibran


Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages 
surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies 
the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the 
furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came home from 
the streets while silence engulfed the night. 

In a lone house near those villages lived a woman who sat by 
her fireside spinning wool, and at her side was her only 
child, staring now at the fire and then at his mother. 

A terrible roar of thunder shook the house and the little 
boy shook with fright. He threw his arms about his mother, 
seeking protection from Nature in her affection. She took 
him to her bosom and kissed him; then she say him on her lap 
and said, "Do not fear, my son, for Nature is but comparing 
her great power to man's weakness. There is a Supreme Being 
beyond the falling snow and the heavy clouds and the blowing 
wind, and He knows the needs of the earth, for He made it; and 
He looks upon the weak with merciful eyes. 

"Be brave, my boy. Nature smiles in Spring and laughs in Summer 
and yawns in Autumn, but now she is weeping; and with her tears 
she waters life, hidden under the earth. 

"Sleep, my dear child; your father is viewing us from Eternity. 
The snow and thunder bring us closer to him at this time. 

"Sleep, my beloved, for this white blanket which makes us cold, 
keeps the seeds warm, and these war-like things will produce 
beautiful flowers when Nisan comes. 

"Thus, my child, man cannot reap love until after sad and 
revealing separation, and bitter patience, and desperate hardship. 
Sleep, my little boy; sweet dreams will find your soul who is 
unafraid of the terrible darkness of night and the biting frost." 

The little boy looked upon his mother with sleep-laden eyes and 
said, "Mother, my eyes are heavy, but I cannot go to bed without 
saying my prayer." 

The woman looked at his angelic face, her vision blurred by 
misted eyes, and said, "Repeat with me, my boy - 'God, have 
mercy on the poor and protect them from the winter; warm 
their thin-clad bodies with Thy merciful hands; look upon 
the orphans who are sleeping in wretched houses, suffering 
from hunger and cold. Hear, oh Lord, the call of widows who 
are helpless and shivering with fear for their young. Open, 
oh Lord, the hearts of all humans, that they may see the misery 
of the weak. Have mercy upon the sufferers who knock on doors, 
and lead the wayfarers into warm places. Watch, oh Lord, 
over the little birds and protect the trees and fields 
from the anger of the storm; for Thou art merciful and 
full of love.'" 

As Slumber captured the boy's spirit, his mother placed him 
in the bed and kissed his eyes with quivering lips. Then 
she went back and sat by the hearth, spinning the wool 
to make him raiment.