A BUSH SECTION
Till the skeleton valleys and hills
With greenness and growing, with multiplied being and movement,
Changeful, living, rejoice!
Yea, newly-come Soul!
Here on Earth, from what region unguess’d at?
Here, to this rough and raw prospect, these back-blocks of Being, assign’d—
Lean, cumber’d with ruin, lonely, bristling with hardship,
A birthright that fires have been through—
What change, O Changer! creature, Creator, of Spirit!
In this, thy burden’d allotment, wilt thou command and create?
Finite, yet infinite,
Tool, yet Employer,
Of Forces Almighty,
Beyond thee, within,—
What Fires, of the Spirit, what Storms, wilt thou summon?
What Dews shall avail thee, what Sunbeams? What seed wilt thou sow?
Ease unto weaklings: to thews and to sinews, Achievement!
What pasture, Settler and Sovereign, shall be grazed from the soil-sweetening ashes?
What home be warm in the wild?
Nay, outflowing Heart! thou highway forward and back:
Thought-trains of the Mind! commercing with far-away worlds:
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