To Him that was Crucified
Walt Whitman
My
spirit to yours dear brother,
Do not mind because many
sounding your name do not understand you,
I do not sound your
name, but I understand you,
I specify you with joy O my
comrade to salute you, and to salute
those who are with you, before and since, and those to come also,
That
we all labour together transmitting the same charge and succession,
We
few equals indifferent of lands, indifferent of times,
We,
enclosers of all continents, all castes, allowers of all theologies,
Compassionaters,
perceivers, rapport of men,
We walk silent among disputes and
assertions, but reject not the
disputes
nor any thing that is asserted,
We hear the bawling and din,
we are reach'd at by divisions,
jealousies, recriminations on every side,
They close
peremptorily upon us to surround us, my comrade,
Yet we walk
unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and down till
we make our ineffaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras,
Till
we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races,
ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers as we are.