|
I
tell you that the children of yesteryear
are walking in the funeral of the era which they created for
themselves. They are pulling a rotting rope that may break soon and
cause them to drop into a forgotten abyss. I say that they are
living in homes with weak foundations. As the storm blows - and it
is about to blow - their homes will fall upon their heads and thus
become their tombs. I say that all their thoughts, their sayings,
their quarrels, their compositions, their books and all their works
are nothing but chains dragging them because they are too weak to
pull the load.
|
|
|
|
But the children of tomorrow are the
ones called by life, and they follow it with steady steps and heads
high. They are the dawn of the new frontiers; no smoke will veil
their eyes and no jingle of chains will drown out their voices. They
are few in number but the difference is as between a grain of wheat
and a stack of hay. No one knows them but they know each other. They
are like the summits, which can see and hear each other - not like
caves, which cannot hear or see. They are the seed dropped by the
hand of God in the field, breaking through its pod and waving its
sapling leaves before the face of the sun. It shall grow into a
mighty tree; its roots in the heart of the Earth and its branches
high in the sky.
Kahlil Gibran
|
|
|
|
|
