From this debate between Age and Youth, Kahlil Gibran’s approaches to life, death, and religion are revealed. He does not propose that all persons abandon urbanity for life on the mountainside, but he endeavours to focus attention upon a simple formula for better life, and urges the people to unchain themselves from the rattling shackles of society and avail themselves, to as great a degree as possible, of the natural freedom and tranquility of rural existence. The field which Gibran describes is symbolic of the life of rich wholesomeness accruing to the heart of the person who abides close by the earth.
By reason of the nebulous, untranslatable character of the Arabic language, this play-poem is variously called The Procession and The Cortège. Despite Gibran’s sadness as reflected herein, the translator determined that The Procession was best suited, as a title, to the author’s intention. This same indefiniteness, inherent in the Arabic, required occasional departure from strict translation in order that Gibran’s mighty message be captured intact.
Age: True, good deed by man is ever done,
But when man is gone, evil does not
Perish with him. Like turning wheels
We are controlled by the hands of
Time where e’er man resides. Say not
“This man is famed and learned, or
Master of knowledge from the angels
Sent,” for in the city the best of
Man is but one of a flock, led by
The shepherd in strong voice. And he
Who follows not the command must soon
Stand before his killers.
Youth: There is no shepherd over man in
The beautiful field, nor sheep to
Graze nor hearts to bleed. Winter
Departs with her garment and Spring
Must come, but only by God’s great
Command. Your people are born as
Slaves, and by your tyrants their
Souls are torn. Where e’er goes the
Leader, so go they, and woe unto
Him who would refuse!
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
The song of the flute is more sublime
Than all glory of kings in all of time.
Age: Life amid the throngs is but brief
And drug-laden slumber, mixed with
Mad dreams and spectres and fears.
The secret of the heart is encased
In sorrow, and only in sorrow is
Found our joy, while happiness serves
But to conceal the deep mystery of life,
And if sorrow I were to abandon for
The calm of the field, naught but
Emptiness would be my lot.
Youth: The joy of one is the sorrow of the
Other, and there is no sorrow in the
Beautiful field, or sadness brought
By scornful deed. The frolicsome
Breeze brings joy to sad hearts, and
Your sorrow of heart is but a dream of
Fancy, passing swiftly, like the quick
Brook. Your sorrow would in the field
Vanish, as the autumn leaf is sped off
On the forehead of the brook, and your
Heart would be calm, as the broad lake
Is calm under the great lights of God.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
Heaven’s melody alone will ever remain,
All of earth’s objects are but vain.
Age: Few are those content with life and far
From care. The river of the field is
But a carrier of emptiness; the river
Of human life has been diverted into old
Cups of knowledge and presented to man
Who drinks of life’s richness but heeds
Not its warnings. He is joyous when the
Cups are of happiness, but he grumbles
When he prays to God and asks for the
Wealth he scarce merits. And when he
Attains his goal of iron riches his
Dreams of fear enslave him forever.
This world is but a wine shop whose
Owner is Time, and the drunkards
Demand much for little offering.
Youth: There is no wine in the beautiful
Field, for glorious intoxication of
The soul is the reward of all who
Seek it in the bosom of Nature. The
Cloud which shelters the moon must
Be pierced with ardour if one needs
Behold the moon’s light. The people
Of the city abuse the wine of Time,
For they think upon it as a temple,
And they drink of it with ease and
With unthinking, and they flee,
Scurrying into old age with deep
But unknowing sorrow.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
The song of God must ever stay,
All other things must pass away.
Age: Religion to man is like your field,
For it is planted with hope and
Tilled by the faithful; or it is
Tended by the shivering ignorant,
Fearing the fire of hell; or it is
Sowed by the strong in wealth of
Empty gold who look upon religion
As a kind of barter, ever seeking
Profit in earthly reward. But
Their hearts are lost despite
Their throbbing, and the product
Of their spiritual farming is but
The unwanted weed of the valley.
Youth: There is no religion in the Godly
And beautiful field, nor any heretic
Nor color nor creed, for when the
Nightingale sings, all is beauty and
Joy and religion, and the spirit is
Soothed and the reward is peace.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
Prayer is my music, love is my string;
The moaning flute will surely sound
The misery of those in the city bound.
Age: What of justice and earthly rule
That makes us laugh and weep? For the
Criminal who is weak and poor the
Narrow cell or death awaits; but
Honour and glory await the rich who
Conceal their crimes behind their
Gold and silver and inherited glory.
Youth: All is justice in Nature’s field; to
None does Nature grant neglect or
Favor. The trees are grown in each
Other’s way, but when the breeze is
Scampering all will sway. Justice in
The field is like the snow, for it
Blankets all things, and when the sun
Appears, all things must emerge in
Strength and in beauty and in fragrance.
Give me the flute and let me sing
For the song of God is everything;
The truth of the flute will e’er remain,
While crimes and men are but disdain.
Age: The people of the city are enmeshed
In the web of the tyrant who rages
In fury when he grows old. In the
Lion’s den there is a scent, and be
The lion there or not, the fox will
Not approach. The starling is timid
When he soars the infinite, but the
Eagle is proud, even when he dies.
The strength of the spirit alone is
The power of powers, and must in time
Crumble to powder all things opposing
It. Do not condemn, but pity the
Faithless and their weakness and their
Ignorance and their nothingness.
Youth: The field sees not the weak nor the
Strong, for to Nature, all are one
And all are strong. When the lion
Roars, the field does not say, “He is
A terrible beast … let us flee!” Man’s
Shadow passes in speed through his
Brief and sorrowful visit to earth,
And rests in the vast firmament of
Thought, which is heaven’s field; and
Like leaves of autumn that fall to the
Heart of earth, all must again appear in
The great springtime of colourful youth,
Beautiful in their re-birth. And the leaf
Of the tree will thrive in hearty life
After man’s objects of substance perish
Into vapour and forgottenness.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
For strength of soul my song will bring;
The heavenly flute will long be cherished
But man and his greed will soon be perished.
Age: Man is weak by his own hand, for he
Has refashioned God’s law into his own
Confining manner of life, chaining
Himself with the coarse irons of the
Rules of society which he desired; and
He is steadfast in refusing to be aware
Of the great tragedy he has cast upon
Himself and his children and their sons.
Man has erected on this earth a prison
Of quarrels from which he cannot now
Escape, and misery is his voluntary lot.
Youth: To Nature all are alive and all are
Free. The earthly glory of man is an
Empty dream, vanishing with the bubbles
In the rocky stream. When the almond
Tree spreads her blossoms on the small
Plants growing below, she does not say,
“How rich am I! How poor are they!”
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
The melody of God will never wane,
While all on earth is naught but vain.
Age: The kindness of the people is but an
Empty shell containing no gem or
Precious pearl. With two hearts do
People live; a small one of deep
Softness, the other of steel. And
Kindness is too often a shield,
And generosity too often a sword.
Youth: The field has but one great heart;
The willow lives by the oak, and
Has no fear of its strength or
Its size. And the peacock’s garb
Is magnificent to behold, but the
Peacock knows not whether it be a
Thing of beauty or of ugliness.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
For music is the hymn of the meek,
Mightier than the strong and the weak.
Age: The people of the city feign great
Wisdom and knowledge, but their
Fancy remains false forever, for
They are but experts of imitation.
It gives them pride to calculate
That a barter will bring no loss
Or gain. The idiot imagines himself
A king and no power can alter his
Great thoughts and dreams. The
Proud fool mistakes his mirror for
The sky, and his shadow for a
Moon that gleams high from the
Heavens.
Youth: No clever or handsome inhabit
The field, for Nature is not in
Need of beauty or sweetness. The
Running stream is sweet nectar,
And as it broadens and stills,
It reflects only the truth of
Its neighbours and self.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
The moaning flute is more divine
Than the golden cup of deep, red wine.
Age: The kind of love for which man
Struggles and dies is like the
Bush that bears no fruit. Only
The wholesome love, like the
Enormous sorrow of soul, will
Enliven and lift the heart into
Understanding. When abused, it
Is the purveyor of misery and the
Omen of danger and the dark cloud
Of blackness. If humanity were to
Lead love’s cavalcade to a bed of
Faithless motive, then love there
Would decline to abide. Love is a
Beautiful bird, begging capture,
But refusing injury.
Youth: The field fights not to acquire
The throne of love, for love and
Beauty abide forever and in peace
And in bounty in the field. Love,
When sought out, is an ailment
Between the flesh and the bone,
And only when youth has passed
Does the pain bring rich and
Sorrowful knowledge.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
For song is the arm of love
Descending in beauty from God above.
Age: The youth who is visited by a great
Love through the truth of the light
Of heaven, and in whom thirst and
Hunger rage to protect that love,
Is the true child of God. And yet
The people say, “He is insane! He
Profits not from love, and the one
He loves is far from beauty, and
His pain and woe avail him naught!”
Pity those ignorants! Their spirits
Were dead before they were born on
Labour’s bed!
Youth: No sentry or blamer abides in the
Field, and no secret is withheld
By Nature. The gazelle capers in
Merriment at eventide and the
Eagle never utters smile or frown,
But all things in the field are
Heard and known and seen.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
For music is the heart’s great bliss,
From heaven a joy, from God a kiss.
Age: We forget the greatness of the
Invader but remember e’er his rage
Alexander lust grew strong, and
Through the soul of Kais ignorance
Was defeated. The triumph of
Alexander was naught but defeat;
The torture of Kais was triumph
And glory. Through the spirit,
Not the body, love must be shown,
As it is to enliven, not to deaden,
That the wine is pressed.
Youth: The memories of the lover hover
In the field, but the deeds of
A tyrant ne’er bring a thought,
For his crime is recorded in
History’s book. For love, all of
Existence is an eternal shrine.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
Forget the cruelty of the strong,
To Nature alone all things belong;
The lilies were made as cups for dew
Not for blood or potions new.
Age: Happiness on earth is but a fleet,
Passing ghost, which man craves
At any cost in gold or time. And
When the phantom becomes the
Reality, man soon wearies of it.
The river runs like the racing
Stallion, swirling on the plain,
Turning it to dust. Man endeavours
That his body provide the things
Prohibited; and when gotten, the
Desire then subsides. When you
Behold a man turning aside from
Things forbidden that bring
Abysmal crime to self, look
Upon him with eyes of love, for
He is a preserver of God in him.
Youth: Empty and barren of hope and care
Is the beautiful field; it gives
No heed to desire, and craves not
For part of any thing, for God
Almighty has provided her with all.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
Singing is love and hope and desire,
The moaning flute is the light and fire.
Age: The purpose of the spirit in the
Heart is concealed, and by outer
Appearance cannot be judged. One
Often says, “When the soul has
Reached perfection, then from
Life it is released, for if the
Soul were fruit, then when ripe
It would fall from the tree by
The strength of God’s wind.” And
Another adds, “When the body rests
In death the soul will depart it,
As the shadow on the lake vanishes
As the searing heat dries its bed.”
But the spirit is not born to
Perish, but ever will thrive and
Flourish. For even as the north
Wind blows and folds the flower
To earth, so comes the south wind
To restore its beauty.
Youth: The field distinguishes not the
Body from the soul. The sea and
The fog and the dew and the mist
Are all but one, whether clouded
Or clear.
Give me the flute and let me sing,
And through my soul let music ring;
For song is all of body and soul,
From the rich depth of the golden bowl.
Age: The body is the womb for the
Soul’s tranquility, and there it
Rests until light is born. The
Soul is an embryo in the body of
Man, and the day of death is the
Day of awakening, for it is the
Great era of labour and the rich
Hour of creation. But cruelty’s
Barrenness accompanies man, and
Intrudes upon the fertility of
The soul’s mind. How many flowers
Possess no fragrance from the day
Of their birth! How many clouds
Gather in the sky, barren of rain,
Dropping no pearls!
Youth: No soul is barren in the good
Field, and intruders cannot