Monday, October 08, 2018

"Europe's dead cross may bud and blossom there"

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 come 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, 
These sped me on. 
  
By me, and these, the work so far accomplish’d (for what has been, has been;) 
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; 
Haply the lifeless cross I know—Europe’s dead cross—may bud and blossom there.

                                                       --from "Prayer of Columbus,"  Walt Whitman, 1871
                                                     

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