Tears and Laughter

Tears and Laughter

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by Kahlil Gibran

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This classic work showcases the early brilliance and philosophical foundation of Kahlil Gibran, one of the most influential writers of the twentieth century Kahlil Gibran, author of The Prophet and one of the twentieth century’s most revolutionary, inspiring writers, effortlessly blends his unique perspective on Eastern and Western


This classic work showcases the early brilliance and philosophical foundation of Kahlil Gibran, one of the most influential writers of the twentieth century Kahlil Gibran, author of The Prophet and one of the twentieth century’s most revolutionary, inspiring writers, effortlessly blends his unique perspective on Eastern and Western philosophy in this early collection of work, written when he was just twenty years old. From delicate turns of phrase to strong assertions of equality, delightful rejoicings to frightening prophecies, Gibran’s poetry and prose reveal his eternal hunger for love and beauty. This expanded edition includes key works of social justice such as “The Bride’s Bed” and firmly establishes Gibran’s role as champion of human rights and individual liberty. 

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Tears and Laughter

By Kahlil Gibran, Anthony Rizcallah Ferris, Martin L. Wolf

Philosophical Library

Copyright © 2011 Philosophical Library, Inc.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4532-2853-1


The Creation

The God separated a spirit from Himself and fashioned it into beauty. He showered upon her all the blessings of gracefulness and kindness. He gave her the cup of happiness and said, "Drink not from this cup unless you forget the past and the future, for happiness is naught but the moment." And He also gave her a cup of sorrow and said, "Drink from this cup and you will understand the meaning of the fleeting instants of the joy of life for sorrow ever abounds."

And the God bestowed upon her a love that would desert her forever upon her first sigh of earthly satisfaction, and a sweetness that would banish with her first awareness of flattery.

And He gave her wisdom from heaven to lead her to the all-righteous path, and placed in the depth of her heart an eye that sees the unseen, and created in her an affection and goodness toward all things. He dressed her with raiment of hopes spun by the angels of heaven from the sinews of the rainbow. And He cloaked her in the shadow of confusion, which is the dawn of life and light.

Then the God took consuming fire from the furnace of anger, and searing wind from the desert of ignorance, and sharp-cutting sands from the shore of selfishness, and coarse earth from under the feet of ages, and combined them all and fashioned Man. He gave to Man a blind power that rages and drives him into a madness which extinguishes only before gratification of desire, and placed life in him which is the specter of death.

And the God laughed and cried. He felt an overwhelming love and pity for Man, and sheltered him be neath His guidance.

    Have Mercy on Me, My Soul.
    Why Are you weeping, my Soul?
    Knowest thou my weakness?
    Thy tears strike sharp and injure,
    For I know not my wrong.
    Until when shalt thou cry?
    I have naught but human words
    To interpret your dreams,
    Your desires, and your instructions.

    Look upon me, my Soul; I have
    Consumed my full life heeding
    Your teachings. Think of how
    I suffer! I have exhausted my
    Life following you.

    My heart was glorying upon the
    Throne, but is now yoked in slavery;
    My patience was a companion, but
    Now contends against me;
    My youth was my hope, but
    Now reprimands my neglect.

    Why, my Soul, are you all-demanding?
    I have denied myself pleasure
    And deserted the joy of life
    Following the course which you
    Impelled me to pursue.
    Be just to me, or call Death
    To unshackle me,
    For justice is your glory.

    Have mercy on me, my Soul.
    You have laden me with Love until
    I cannot carry my burden. You and
    Love are inseparable might; Substance
    And I are inseparable weakness.
    Will e'er the struggle cease
    Between the strong and the weak?

    Have mercy on me, my Soul.
    You have shown me Fortune beyond
    My grasp. You and Fortune abide on
    The mountain top; Misery and I are
    Abandoned together in the pit of
    The valley. Will e'er the mountain
    And the valley unite?

    Have mercy on me, my Soul.
    You have shown me Beauty, but then
    Concealed her. You and Beauty live
    In the light; Ignorance and I are
    Bound together in the dark. Will
    E'er the light invade darkness?

    Your delight comes with the Ending,
    And you revel now in anticipation;
    But this body suffers with life
    While in life.
    This, my Soul, is perplexing.

    You are hastening toward Eternity,
    But this body goes slowly toward
    Perishment. You do not wait for him,
    And he cannot go quickly.
    This, my Soul, is sadness.

    You ascend high, through heaven's
    Attraction, but this body falls by
    Earth's gravity. You do not console
    Him, and he does not appreciate you.
    This, my Soul, is misery.

    You are rich in wisdom, but this
    Body is poor in understanding.
    You do not compromise
    And he does not obey.
    This, my Soul, is extreme suffering.

    In the silence of the night you visit
    The Beloved and enjoy the sweetness of
    His presence. This body ever remains
    The bitter victim of hope and separation.
    This, my Soul, is agonizing torture.
    Have mercy on me, my Soul!

Two Infants

A prince stood on the balcony of his palace addressing a great multitude summoned for the occasion and said, "Let me offer you and this whole fortunate country my congratulations upon the birth of a new prince who will carry the name of my noble family, and of whom you will be justly proud. He is the new bearer of a great and illustrious ancestry, and upon him depends the brilliant future of this realm. Sing and be merry!" The voices of the throngs, full of joy and thankfulness, flooded the sky with exhilarating song, welcoming the new tyrant who would affix the yoke of oppression to their necks by ruling the weak with bitter authority, and exploiting their bodies and killing their souls. For that destiny, the people were singing and drinking ecstatically to the health of the new Emir.

Another child entered life and that kingdom at the same time. While the crowds were glorifying the strong and belittling themselves by singing praise to a potential despot, and while the angels of heaven were weeping over the people's weakness and servitude, a sick woman was thinking. She lived in an old, deserted hovel and, lying in her hard bed beside her newly-born infant wrapped with ragged swaddles, was starving to death. She was a penurious and miserable young wife neglected by humanity; her husband had fallen into the trap of death set by the prince's oppression, leaving a solitary woman to whom God had sent, that night, a tiny companion to prevent her from working and sustaining life.

As the mass dispersed and silence was restored to the vicinity, the wretched woman placed the infant on her lap and looked into his face and wept as if she were to baptize him with tears. And with a hunger-weakened voice she spoke to the child saying, "Why have you left the spiritual world and come to share with me the bitterness of earthly life? Why have you deserted the angels and the spacious firmament and come to this miserable land of humans, filled with agony, oppression, and heartlessness? I have nothing to give you except tears; will you be nourished on tears instead of milk? I have no silk clothes to put on you; will my naked, shivering arms give you warmth? The little animals graze in the pasture and return safely to their shed; and the small birds pick the seeds and sleep placidly between the branches. But you, my beloved, have naught save a loving but destitute mother."

Then she took the infant to her withered breast and clasped her arms around him as if wanting to join the two bodies in one, as before. She lifted her burning eyes slowly toward heaven and cried, "God! Have mercy on my unfortunate countrymen!"

At that moment the clouds floated from the face of the moon, whose beams penetrated the transom of that poor home and fell upon two corpses.

    The Life of Love


    Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
    For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
    Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
    Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
    Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
    Inspiration high above the cool green plains.

    Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
    And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
    They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
    The Night of Kedre.

    The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
    Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
    Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
    And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
    Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.

    Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
    Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
    With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
    In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.

    Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
    Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.


    Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
    Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
    Are ripening the grain.
    Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
    Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
    Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.
    Let us fill our bins with the products of
    Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
    Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
    Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
    Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
    Upon pillows of soft hay.
    Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
    To the provoking murmur of the brook.


    Let us go and gather the grapes of the vineyard
    For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
    Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
    Ages in eternal vessels.

    Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
    Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
    Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
    Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
    Have made pilgrimage to warmth and left the chilled
    Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
    And myrtle have no more tears.

    Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
    Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
    Are drained of their copious weeping; and
    The cautious old hills have stored away
    Their colorful garments.
    Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
    And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
    With quiet and contented melody.


    Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
    Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
    Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
    For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

    Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
    That is greater than the shrieking elements
    Beyond our door.
    Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
    Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
    Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
    Makes my soul cry.

    Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
    Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
    Your life with me has written upon your face.
    Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
    Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
    And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
    Reward in harvest.

    Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
    Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
    Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
    Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
    Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
    They are shut.
    Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
    Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
    Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
    All but our moving lips.

    You are close by me, My Forever.
    How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber;
    And how recent was the dawn!

The House of Fortune

My wearied heart bade me farewell and left for the House of Fortune. As he reached that holy city which the soul had blessed and worshiped, he commenced wondering, for he could not find what he had always imagined would be there. The city was empty of power, money, and authority.

And my heart spoke to the daughter of Love saying, "Oh Love, where can I find Contentment? I heard that she had come here to join you."

And the daughter of Love responded, "Contentment has already gone to preach her gospel in the city, where greed and corruption are paramount; we are not in need of her."

Fortune craves not Contentment, for it is an earthly hope, and its desires are embraced by union with objects, while Contentment is naught but heartfelt.

The eternal soul is never contented; it ever seeks exaltation. Then my heart looked upon Life of Beauty and said, "Thou art all knowledge; enlighten me as to the mystery of Woman." And he answered, "Oh human heart, woman is your own reflection, and whatever you are, she is; wherever you live, she lives; she is like religion if not interpreted by the ignorant, and like a moon, if not veiled with clouds, and like a breeze, if not poisoned with impurities."

And my heart walked toward Knowledge, the daughter of Love and Beauty, and said, "Bestow upon me wisdom, that I might share it with the people." And she responded, "Say not wisdom, but rather fortune, for real fortune comes not from outside, but begins in the Holy of Holies of life. Share of thyself with the people."


Excerpted from Tears and Laughter by Kahlil Gibran, Anthony Rizcallah Ferris, Martin L. Wolf. Copyright © 2011 Philosophical Library, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of Philosophical Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Khalil Gibran (1883–1931) was an essayist, novelist, and mystic poet. He wrote The Prophet, a collection of philosophical essays that went on to become one of the bestselling books of the twentieth century. Though he was born in Lebanon, he moved to Boston’s South End as a child and studied art with Auguste Rodin in Paris for two years before launching his literary career. Much of Gibran’s work contains themes of religion and Christianity as well as spiritual love.

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