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Rh And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub
 * for the wheeled universe,

And any man or woman shall stand cool and
 * supercilious before a million universes.

And I call to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I, who am curious about each, am not curious
 * about God,

No array of terms can say how much I am at peace
 * about God, and about death.

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand
 * God not in the least,

Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful
 * than myself.

Why should I wish to see God better than this day? I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four,
 * and each moment then,

In the faces of men and women I see God, and in
 * my own face in the glass,

I find letters from God dropped in the street—and
 * every one is signed by God's name,

And I leave them where they are, for I know that
 * others will punctually come forever and ever.

And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality,
 * it is idle to try to alarm me.

To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder-hand, pressing, receiving, supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, Rh
 * and mark the outlet, and mark the relief and
 * escape.