No mortal sense can hinder
The flight of secret prayer,
That ceaseless, voiceless heart-desire
Which seeks God everywhere.
The spoken sign, or symbol,
Time-hallowed form or phrase,
May open heaven's portal
For him who humbly prays.
But the heart's own longings lift it
To heights words cannot reach,
And human lips may never form
That glory into speech.
The light of God's own kingdom
Flashes its dawn within,
And heavenly concord stills to peace
The strife of sense and sin.
The tongues of worldly wisdom,
With mortal modes in tune,
Are mute in that transcendent hour
When God and man commune.
For God needs not the language
Of human hope and fear,
To know us as His children,
Nor we to feel Him near.
On unseen, silent pinions
Thought rises from the clod,
Above the blinding mists of earth
That hide the face of God;
And man, new born of Spirit,
Reclaims his right of birth,
The heritage of all God's sons—
Dominion o'er the earth.
