The Scorner

Who praises and who scorns me too,
Both are my mother. Ay, I view
My scorners as my mother true.

For such are kind to me. They say
Hard words that wash my soil away,
As does a mother's bathing. They
Are friends indeed and strength supply
To me. Were I to blame them, why,
The guilty one would then be I.

O sweet is scorning, setting free
From bondage of duality.
A gracious benefactor he.

Before the scorner bow we low.
Blest be his mother; for I know
Who suffer scorn to Freedom go.