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29—Lesson Poem.

WHO learns my lesson complete?

Boss, journeyman, apprentice? churchman          and atheist?

The stupid and the wise thinker? parents and          offspring? merchant, clerk, porter, and cus-          tomer? editor, author, artist, and school-          boy?

Draw nigh and commence,

It is no lesson, it lets down the bars to a good          lesson,

And that to another, and every one to another          still.

The great laws take and effuse without argument,

I am of the same style, for I am their friend,

I love them quits and quits—I do not halt and          make salaams.

I lie abstracted and hear beautiful tales of things          and the reasons of things,

They are so beautiful I nudge myself to listen.

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I cannot say to any person what I hear—I          cannot say it to myself—it is very won-          derful.

It is no little matter, this round and delicious globe          moving so exactly in its orbit forever and          ever without one jolt or the untruth of a          single second,

I do not think it was made in six days, nor          in ten thousand years, nor ten decillions of          years,

Nor planned and built one thing after another, as          an architect plans and builds a house.

I do not think seventy years is the time of a man          or woman,

Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a          man or woman,

Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me          or any one else.

Is it wonderful that I should be immortal? as          every one is immortal,

I know it is wonderful—but my eye-sight is          equally wonderful, and how I was con-          ceived in my mother's womb is equally          wonderful,

And how I was not palpable once, but am now —          and was born on the last day of May in the          Year 43 of America—and passed from a

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babe, in the creeping trance of three summers          and three winters, to articulate and walk —          all this is equally wonderful,

And that I grew six feet high, and that I have          become a man thirty-six years old in the Year          79 of America, and that I am here anyhow,          are all equally wonderful,

And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we          affect each other without ever seeing each          other, and never perhaps to see each other,          is every bit as wonderful,

And that I can think such thoughts as these is          just as wonderful,

And that I can remind you, and you think them and          know them to be true, is just as wonderful,

And that the moon spins round the earth, and on          with the earth, is equally wonderful,

And that they balance themselves with the sun          and stars is equally wonderful.

Come! I should like to hear you tell me what          there is in yourself that is not just as won-          derful,

And I should like to hear the name of anything          between Sunday morning and Saturday night          that is not just as wonderful.

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