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341. The young mechanic is closest to me—he knows me
pretty well,
The woodman, that takes his axe and jug with him,
shall take me with him all day,
The farm-boy, ploughing in the field, feels good at the
sound of my voice,
In vessels that sail, my words sail—I go with fishermen
and seamen, and love them.

342. My face rubs to the hunter's face, when he lies down
alone in his blanket,
The driver, thinking of me, does not mind the jolt
of his wagon,
The young mother and old mother comprehend me,
The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment, and
forget where they are,
They and all would resume what I have told them.

343. I have said that the Soul is not more than the
body.
And I have said that the body is not more than
the Soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's
self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy,
walks to his own funeral, dressed in his shroud,
And I or you, pocketless of a dime, may purchase
the pick of the earth,
And to glance with an eye, or show a bean in its
pod, confounds the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young
man following it may become a hero,