EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE

A fire mist and a planet
A crystal and a cell -
A jellyfish 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 rich, ripe tint of the cornfields,
and the wild geese sailing high;
and all over upland and lowland
the charm of the goldenrod -
Some of us call it Autumn
and others call it God.
Like tides on a crescent sea beach,
when the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
come welling 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 trod -
Some call is Consecration
and others call it
God.

EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE

Written by William H. Carruth