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Will we rate our cash and business high? I have no

objection, I rate them as high as the highest then a child born of a

woman and man I rate beyond all rate. We thought our Union grand, and our Constitution grand, I do not say they are not grand and good, for they are, I am this day just as much in love with them as you, Then I am in love with You, and with all my fellows

upon the earth.

We consider bibles and religions divine — I do not say

they are not divine, I say they have all grown out of you, and may grow out of

you still,

It is not they who give the life, it is you who give the life, Leaves are not more shed from the trees, or trees from the

earth, than they are shed out of you. .

BIRDS OF PASSAGE

SONG OF THE UNIVERSAL
Come said the Muse,
Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
Sing me the universal.
In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.

life a share or more or less, None born but it is born, conceald or unconceal'd the seed

is waiting
Lo! keen-eyed towering science,
As from tall peaks the modern overlooking,
Successive absolute fiats issuing.

By every

Yet again, lo! the soul, above all science,
For it has history gather'd like husks around the globe,
For it the entire star-myriads roll through the sky.
In spiral routes by long detours,
(As a much-tacking ship upon the sea,)
For it the partial to the permanent fowing,
For it the real to the ideal tends.
For it the mystic evolution,
Not the right only justified, what we call evil also justified.
Forth from their masks, no matter what,
From the huge festering trunk, from craft and guile and tears,
Health to emerge and joy, joy universal.
Out of the bulk, the morbid and the shallow,
Out of the bad majority, the varied countless frauds of

men and states,
Electric, antiseptic yet, cleaving, suffusing all,
Only the good is universal.

Over the mountain-growths disease and sorrow,
An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering,
High in the purer, happier air.
From imperfection's murkiest cloud,
Darts always forth one ray of perfect light,
One flash of heaven's glory.
To fashion's, custom's discord,
To the mad Babel-din, the deafening orgies,
Soothing each lull a strain is heard, just heard,
From some far shore the final chorus sounding.
O the blest eyes, the happy hearts,
That see, that know the guiding thread so fine,
Along the mighty labyrinth.

And thou America,
For the scheme’s culmination, its thought and its reality,

For these (not for thyself) thou hast arrived.
Thou too surroundest all,
Embracing carrying welcoming all, thou too by pathways

broad and new, To the ideal tendest. The measur'd faiths of other lands, the grandeurs of the

past, Are not for thee, but grandeurs of thine own, Deific faiths and amplitudes, absorbing, comprehending all, All eligible to all. All, all for immortality, Love like the light silently wrapping all, Nature's amelioration blessing all, The blossoms, fruits of ages, orchards divine and certain, Forms, objects, growths, humanities, to spiritual images

ripening. Give me O God to sing that thought, Give me, give him or her I love this quenchless faith, In Thy ensemble, whatever else withheld withhold not

from us,

Belief in plan of Thee enclosed in Time and Space,
Health, peace, salvation universal.
Is it a dream?
Nay but the lack of it the dream,
And failing it life’s lore and wealth a dream,
And all the world a dream.

TO YOU
Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of

dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your

feet and hands, Even now your features, joys, speech, house, trade, man

ners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away

from you,

Your true soul and body appear before me,
They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops,

work, farms, clothes, the house, buying, selling, eating,

drinking, suffering, dying. Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that

you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none bet

ter than you. O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabb'd nothing but you, I should have

chanted nothing but you. I will leave all and come and make the hymns of you, None has understood you, but I understand you, None has done justice to you, you have not done justice

to yourself, None but has found you imperfect, I only find no imper

fection in you, None but would subordinate you, I only am he who will never consent to subordinate

you, I only am he who places over you no master, owner,

better, God, beyond what waits intrinsically in your

self. Painters have painted their swarming groups and the

centre-figure of all, From the head of the centre-figure spreading a nimbus of

gold-color'd light, But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without

its nimbus of gold-color'd light, From hand from the brain of every man and woman it

streams, effulgently Aowing forever. O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you ! You have not known what you are, you have slumber'd

upon yourself all your life,

my

Your eyelids have been the same as closed most of the

time, What you have done returns already in mockeries, (Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in

mockeries, what is their return?) The mockeries are not you, Underneath them and within them I see you lurk, I pursue you where none else has pursued you, Silence, the desk, the Aippant expression, the night, the

accustom'd routine, if these conceal you from others or

from yourself, they do not conceal you from me, The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion,

if these balk others they do not balk me, The pert apparel, the deform’d attitude, drunkenness,

greed, premature death, all these I part aside. There is no endowment in man or woman that is not

tallied in you, There is no virtue, no beauty in man or woman, but as

good is in you, No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you, No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits

for you.

As for me, I give nothing to any one except I give the

like carefully to you, I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of

you. Whoever

you
are! claim
your own at

any

hazard ! These shows of the East and West are tame compared to

you, These immense meadows, these interminable rivers, you

are immense and interminable as they, These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes

of apparent dissolution, you are he or she who is master

or mistress over them, Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, ele

ments, pain, passion, dissolution.

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