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90 My words are words of a questioning, and to indicate
 * reality and motive power:

This printed and bound book—but the printer, and
 * the printing-office boy?

The well-taken photographs—but your wife or friend
 * close and solid in your arms?

The fleet of ships of the line, and all the modern
 * improvements—but the craft and pluck of the
 * admiral?

The dishes and fare and furniture—but the host and
 * hostess, and the look out of their eyes?

The sky up there—yet here, or next door, or across
 * the way?

The saints and sages in history—but you yourself? Sermons, creeds, theology — but the human brain,
 * and what is reason? and what is love? and what
 * is life?

I do not despise you, priests, My faith is the greatest of faiths, and the least of
 * faiths,

Enclosing all worship ancient and modern, and all
 * between ancient and modern,

Believing I shall come again upon the earth after
 * five thousand years,

Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the Gods,
 * saluting the sun,

Making a fetish of the first rock or stump, powwowing
 * with sticks in the circle of obis,

Helping the lama or brahmin as he trims the lamps
 * of the idols,

Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic
 * procession—rapt and austere in the woods, a
 * gymnosophist,