EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE.

White Ribbon, Volume 32, Issue 378, 18 January 1927, Page 8

EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE.

A fire-mist and a planet, a crystal) and a cell, A jelly-fish and a saurian, and caves where the cavemen dwell. Then a sense of law and beauty, and a face turned from the clod—Some call it Evolution, and others call it God. A haze on the far horizon, the infinite tender sky, The ripe, rich hint of cornfields, and then wild sailing high; And all over upland and lowland, the charm of the golden rod— Some of us call it Autumn, and others call it God. Like tides on a crescent sea-beach, when the moon ia n**w and thin. Into our hearts high yearnings come w’elling and surging in: Come from the mystic ocean, whose rim no foot has trod— Some of us call it Longing, and others call it God. A picket frozen on duty, a mother starved for her brood, Socrates drinking the hemlock, and Jesus on the rood; And millions, who, humble and nameless, the straight, hard pathway plod— Some call it Consecration, and others call It God.