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Rh Putting higher claims for him there with his rolled-
 * up sleeves, driving the mallet and chisel,

Not objecting to special revelations—considering a
 * curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand
 * just as curious as any revelation,

Those ahold of fire engines and hook-and-ladder ropes
 * no less to me than the Gods of the antique wars,

Minding their voices peal through the crash of
 * destruction,

Their brawny limbs passing safe over charred laths—
 * their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of
 * the flames;

By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple
 * interceding for every person born,

Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from
 * three lusty angels with shirts bagged out at
 * their waists,

The snag-toothed hostler with red hair redeeming sins
 * past and to come,

Selling all he possesses, travelling on foot to fee
 * lawyers for his brother, and sit by him while he
 * is tried for forgery;

What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square
 * rod about me, and not filling the square rod
 * then,

The bull and the bug never worshipped half enough, Dung and dirt more admirable than was dreamed, The supernatural of no account—myself waiting my
 * time to be one of the Supremes,

The day getting ready for me when I shall do as
 * much good as the best, and be as prodigious,

Guessing when I am it will not tickle me much to
 * receive puffs out of pulpit or print;