Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/175

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And all night, had you but heard,

There's no depth that has not stirred

That to-morrow men may see

God in every bursting tree—

Yea, he said, the Very God

In each blade that bends the sod,

In each sod that feeds the blade,

In each hushed, far-hidden glade,

In each prairie, running free

O'er some long fast-frozen sea,

In each jungle, fierce and lush

From its glutting thunder-gush,

In each mammoth mountain-side,

Thrust from a womb of earth in pride,

Climbing till creation dies

From its crude, star-stricken eyes—

Yea, and in all eyes that see

That frustrate immensity,

And the larger life that wings

In the least of creeping things;

In the swift invisible rain

Poured into the human brain,

In all gods that men made first

When earth's glories on them burst,

Gods of serpents, stars, and trees,

And the gods that fashioned these,

Great Gautama, propped afar

Where no tears or laughter are,

And the greater God Who died

That men might, uncrucified

From the cross of pride and priest,

Be as brothers at life's feast,

God the Father, God the Son,

God the Love in everyone—