At dawn, the tired world not yet awake,
I rose and sought the quiet water's edge;
And on the placid surface of the lake
Each purple ridge, each cliff and rocky ledge,
Each silent cedar, pine, and paling star
Reflected lay, and imaged forth, serene
And still—no breeze to ruffle or to mar
The calm and beauty of the encircling scene.
The snow-crowned peaks, their mighty summits proud,
Looked down on snow-crowned peaks as proud as they,
While fleecy cloud looked up at fleecy cloud,
Both fringed with gold to greet the coming day.
So perfect was the mirrored form and hue
I scarce could tell the image from the true.

And as I gazed in awe and wonderment
Upon the breathless beauty of the morn,
A still, small voice, an angel visitant
From heaven, on gentle wings of love was borne.
"O child," it whispered in my waiting breast,
"O little child, would you the secret learn?
Would you from weary care and sorrow rest,
And in this peaceful place God's face discern?
Know then that as the bosom of the lake
Reflects the glories which encompass it,
So you, God's image, ever must partake
Of all the glories of the infinite.
Be still; in stillness only can you find
That you reflect the peace and power of Mind."

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November 30, 1935

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