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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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PRAYER OF COLUMBUS.
A BATTER'D, wreck'd old man, |
Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home, |
Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, |
Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd and nigh to death, |
I take my way along the island's edge, |
Haply I may not live another day; |
I cannot rest O God, I cannot eat or drink or sleep, |
Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee, |
Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee, commune with Thee, |
Report myself once more to Thee. |
Thou knowest my years entire, my life, |
My long and crowded life of active work, not adoration merely; |
Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth, |
Thou knowest my manhood's solemn and visionary meditations, |
Thou knowest how before I commenced I devoted all to come to
Thee,
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Thou knowest I have in age ratified all those vows and strictly
kept them,
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Thou knowest I have not once lost nor faith nor ecstasy in Thee, |
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In shackles, prison'd, in disgrace, repining not, |
Accepting all from Thee, as duly come from Thee. |
All my emprises have been fill'd with Thee, |
My speculations, plans, begun and carried on in thoughts of Thee, |
Sailing the deep or journeying the land for Thee; |
Intentions, purports, aspirations mine, leaving results to Thee. |
O I am sure they really came from Thee, |
The urge, the ardor, the unconquerable will, |
The potent, felt, interior command, stronger than words, |
A message from the Heavens whispering to me even in sleep, |
By me and these the work so far accomplish'd, |
By me earth's elder cloy'd and stifled lands uncloy'd, unloos'd, |
By me the hemispheres rounded and tied, the unknown to the known. |
The end I know not, it is all in Thee, |
Or small or great I know not—haply what broad fields, what lands, |
Haply the brutish measureless human undergrowth I know, |
Transplanted there may rise to stature, knowledge worthy Thee, |
Haply the swords I know may there indeed be turn'd to reaping-
tools,
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Haply the lifeless cross I know, Europe's dead cross, may bud and
blossom there.
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One effort more, my altar this bleak sand; |
That Thou O God my life hast lighted, |
With ray of light, steady, ineffable, vouchsafed of Thee, |
Light rare untellable, lighting the very light, |
Beyond all signs, descriptions, languages; |
For that O God, be it my latest word, here on my knees, |
Old, poor, and paralyzed, I thank Thee. |
The clouds already closing in upon me, |
The voyage balk'd, the course disputed, lost, |
I yield my ships to Thee. |
My hands, my limbs grow nerveless, |
My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd, |
Let the old timbers part, I will not part, |
I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me, |
Thee, Thee at least I know. |
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Is it the prophet's thought I speak, or am I raving? |
What do I know of life? what of myself? |
I know not even my own work past or present, |
Dim ever-shifting guesses of it spread before me, |
Of newer better worlds, their mighty parturition, |
And these things I see suddenly, what mean they? |
As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal'd my eyes, |
Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and sky, |
And on the distant waves sail countless ships, |
And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me. |
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