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100  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.

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.

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,