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To Thine Own Self
The lake looked at the mountain, and thought:
O fortunate mountain, rising so high,
while I must lie so low.
You look far out across the world
and take part in many interesting happenings,
while I can only lie still.
How I wish I were a mountain!
The mountain looked at the lake, and thought:
O fortunate lake, lying so close
to the warm-breasted Earth
while I loom here
craggy, cold, and uncomfortable.
You are always so peaceful,
while I am constantly having to battle
howling storm and blazing sun.
How I wish I were a lake!
All the time, quietly,
the mountain was coming down
in silver streams to run into the lake,
and the lake was rising as silver mists
to fall as snow upon the mountain.
This poem is excerpted from Angels Sing in Me: The James Dillet Freeman Memorial Book (Unity Books, 2004), now out of print. To read more of Freeman’s writing, you may request the booklet I Am God’s Song.
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