Each in His Own Tongue<br />A fire mist and a planet,<br />A crystal and a cell,<br />A jellyfish and a saurian,<br />And caves where the cave men dwell;<br />Then a sense of law and beauty,<br />And a face turned from the clod —<br />Some call it Evolution,<br />And others call it God.<br />A haze on the far horizon,<br />The infinite, tender sky,<br />The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,<br />And the wild geese sailing high;<br />And all over upland and lowland<br />The charm of the goldenrod —<br />Some of us call it Autumn,<br />And others call it God.<br /><br />Like tides on a crescent sea beach,<br />When the moon is new and thin,<br />Into our hearts high yearnings<br />Come welling and surging in;<br />Come from the mystic ocean,<br />Whose rim no foot has trod —<br />Some of us call it Longing,<br />And others call it God.<br /><br />A picket frozen on duty,<br />A mother starved for her brood,<br />Socrates drinking the hemlock,<br />And Jesus on the rood;<br />And millions who, humble and nameless,<br />The straight, hard pathway plod —<br />Some call it Consecration,<br />And others call it God.