The Garden of the Prophet 
"part 3" 
by Gibran Khalil Gibran 
.
And Almustafa came and found the Garden of his mother and his father, and he entered in,
and closed the gate that no man might come after him. And for forty days and forty nights he
dwelt alone in that house and that Garden, and none came, not even unto the gate, for it was
closed, and all the people knew that he would be alone. 

And when the forty days and nights were ended, Almustafa opened the gate that they might
come in. And there came nine men to be with him in th Garden; three mariners from his own
ship; three who had been his comrades in play when they were but children together. And
these were his disciples. 

And on a morning his disciples sat around him, and there were distances and remembrances
in his eyes. And that disciple who was called Hafiz said unto him: "Master, tel us of the city of
Orphalese, and of that land wherein you tarried those twelve years." And Almustafa was
silent, and he looked away towards the hills and toward the vast ether, and there was a battle
in his silence. 

Then he said: "My friends and my road-fellows, pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty
of religion. 

"Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave, eats a bread it does not harvest, and
drinks a wine that flows not from its own winepress. 

"Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero, and that deems the glittering conqueror
bountiful. 
"Pity the nation that despises a passion in its dream, yet submits in its awakening. 
"Pity the nation that raisesnot its voice save when it walks in a funeral, boasts not except
when its neck is laid between the sword and the block. 
"Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggle, and whose art is the
art of patching and mimicking. 
"Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpetings, and farewells him with
hootings, only to welcome another with trumpetings again. 
"Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years and whose strong men are yet in the
cradle. 
"Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation." 

And one said: 

"Speak to us of that which is moving in your own heart even now." 

And he looked upon that one, and there was in his voice a sound like a star singing, and he
said: 

"In your waking dream, when you are hushed and listening to your deeper self, your thoughts,
like snow- flakes, fall and flutter and garment all the sounds of your spaces with white silence. 
"And what are waking dreams but clouds that bud and blossom on the sky-tree of your heart?
And what are your thoughts but the petals which the winds of your heart scatter upon the hills
and its fields? "And even as you wait for peace until the formless within you takes form, so
shall the cloud gather and drift until the Blessed Fingers shape its grey desire to little crystal
suns and moons and stars." 

Then Sarkis, he who was the half-doubter, spoke and said: "But spring shall come, and all the
snows of our dreams and our thoughts shall melt and be no more." 

And he answered saying: 

"When Spring comes to seek His beloved amongst the slumbering groves and vineyards, the
snows shall indeed melt and shall run in streams to seek the river in the valley, to be the
cup-bearer to the myrtle-trees and laurel. "So shall the snow of your heart melt when your
Spring is come, and thus shall your secret run in streams to seek the river of life in the valley.
And the river shall enfold your secret and carry it to the great sea. "All things shall melt and
turn into songs when Spring comes. Even the stars, the vast snow-flakes that fall slowly upon
the larger fields, shall melt into singing streams. When the sun of His face shall rise above the
wider horizon, then what frozen symmetry would not turn into liquid melody? And who among
you would not be the cup-bearer to the myrtle and the laurel? 

"It was but yesterday that you were moving with the moving sea, and you were shoreless and
without a self. Then the wind, the breath of Life, wove you, a veil of light on her face; then her
hand gathered you and gave you form, and with a head held high you sought the heights. But
the sea followed after you, and her song is still with you. And though you have forgotten your
parentage, she will for ever assert her motherhood, and for ever will she call you unto her. 

"In your wanderings among the mountains and the desert you will always remember the depth
of her cool heart. And though oftentimes you will not know for what you long, it is indeed for
her vast and rhythmic peace. 

"And how else can it be? In grove and in bower when the rain dances in leaves upon the hill,
when snow falls, a blessing and a covenant; in the valley when you lead your flocks to the
river; in your fields where brooks, like silver streams. join together the green garment; in your
gardens when the early dews mirror the heavens; in your meadows when the mist of evening
half veils your way; in all these the sea is with you, a witness to your heritage, and a claim
upon your love. "It is the snow-flake in you running down to the sea."