Due to an unusually busy week, I’m not writing my usual ponderings, but instead I am offering you a poem. This poem was written by Kahlil Gibran and I offer it to you in memory of Estelle Penn, who passed away last Friday. I learned from talking with her granddaughters that Kahlil Gibran was one of her favorite poets.
On Love

Then said Almitra, Speak to us of Love.

And he raised his head and looked upon

the people, and there fell a stillness upon

them. And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to

him,

Though the sword hidden among his

pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in

him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams

as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he

crucify you. Even as he is for your growth

so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and

caresses your tenderest branches that quiver

in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and

shake them in their clinging to the earth.

                                       •

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto

himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred

fire, that you may become sacred bread for

God’s sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you

that you may know the secrets of your

heart, and in that knowledge become a

fragment of Life’s heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only

love’s peace and love’s pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover

your nakedness and pass out of love’s

threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you

shall laugh, but not all of your laughter,

and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes

naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be

possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say,

“God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am

in the heart of God.”

And think not you can direct the course

of love, for love, if it finds you worthy,

directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil

itself.

But if you love and must needs have

desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook

that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own under-

standing of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart

and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate

love’s ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with grati-

tude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the

beloved in your heart and a song of praise

upon your lips.