Man's native tongue is Spirit's language; Soul
Conveys its word as flowers diffuse their scent,
Unseen yet ambient as the air we breathe
Spontaneously (scarce conscious it is there
Till made aware of it by stir of breeze) .
The speaker may be one whose utterance,
Whose mother tongue, unrecognized, evokes
No meaning to the untaught listener's ear,
Yet Soul's outreaching love of good can stir,
Divinely sensed, a oneness that seemed lost;
And heart to heart speaks as at Pentecost.
