Adam Hurst-Sparrow
Khalil Gibran
Part One
Artist Richard Johnson
The power of charity sows deep in my heart,and I reap and gather
the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.
My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and
give the juice to the thirsty.
Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to
direct the stranger through the dark. 
I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny
should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death
would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give,
I shall refuse to receive.
Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know
the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.
Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace
the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear
inhumanity from my heart.
Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens
him with enlivening pains.
Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong
to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all
communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is
my country and the human family is my tribe.
Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves.
The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms,
empires, and provinces.
Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples
of the soul, and they join hands to build edifices for
earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice
of hope in my deep self saying, “As love enlivens a man’s
heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way
of knowledge.”
Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and
knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing
vain under the sun.
A Poet's Voice
Khalil Gibran
Part Two
Artist Andrew Atroshenko
I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its
people because of their misery. But if my people rose,
stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call
“patriotic spirit” to murder, and invaded my neighbour’s
country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity
I would hate my people and my country.
I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home
of my children; but if the people in that home refused to
shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert
my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness.
My inner voice would say, “The house that does not comfort
the need is worthy of naught by destruction.”
I love my native village with some of my love for my country;
and I love my country with part of my love for the earth,
all of which is my country; and I love the earth will all
of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest
spirit of God.
Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and
that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness
behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and
calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children
are busy singing their clan’s anthem; they are busy sharpening
the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers.
Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one
to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, other
would say, “He is weak, affected by sentiment.”
Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that
Supreme Being preaches love and good-will. But the people
ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene Jesus listened, and
crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed
it, and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene
and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will
not kill them, they deride them, saying,
“Ridicule is more bitter than killing.”
Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates;
they are living yet and shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot
triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and grow forever.
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