Walt Whitman


1 THOUGHT of the Infinite—the All! Be thou my God. 2 Lover Divine, and Perfect Comrade! Waiting, content, invisible yet, but certain, Be thou my God. 3 Thou—thou, the Ideal Man! Fair, able, beautiful, content, and loving, Complete in Body, and dilate in Spirit, Be thou my God. 4 O Death—(for Life has served its turn;) Opener and usher to the heavenly mansion! Be thou my God. 5 Aught, aught, of mightiest, best, I see, conceive, or know, (To break the stagnant tie—thee, thee to free, O Soul,) Be thou my God. 6 Or thee, Old Cause, when’er advancing; All great Ideas, the races’ aspirations, All that exalts, releases thee, my Soul! All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts, Be ye my Gods! 7 Or Time and Space! Or shape of Earth, divine and wondrous! Or shape in I myself—or some fair shape, I, viewing, worship, Or lustrous orb of Sun, or star by night: Be ye my Gods.

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