Firemist and a Planet, A

A firemist and a planet, a crystal and a cell,

a starfish and a saurian, and caves where ancients dwelt;

the sense of law and beauty, a face turned from the sod -

some call it evolution, and others call it God.

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Haze on the far horizon, the infinite tender sky,

the ripe, rich tints of cornfields, and wild geese sailing high;

and over high and lowland, the charm of goldenrod -

some people call it autumn, and others call it God.

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Like tides on crescent seabeach, when moon’s so new and thin,

into our hearts high yearnings come welling, surging in,

come from the mystic ocean whose rim no foot has trod -

some people call it longing, and others call it God.

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A sentry lone and frozen, a mother starved for her brood,

and Socrates’ dread hemlock, and Jesus on the rood;

and millions, who, though nameless, the straight, hard pathway trod -

some call it consecration, and others call it God.