Lately i have had a real bad case of writers block so i really haven't posted. SO i thought i would post one of my favorite poems for you guys to read.
written by William Herbert Carruth
Each in His Own Tongue
A crystal and a cell,
A jelly-fish and a saurian,
And caves where cave-men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty
And a face turned from the clod--
Some call it Evolution
And other call it God.
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese 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.
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in;
Come from the mystic ocean
Whose trim no foot has trod,--
Some of us call it Longing
And others call it God.
A mother starved for her brood
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, who humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway plod,--
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.
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