Souls of men and women！ it is not you I call unseen， unheard，

    untouchable and untouching，

    It is not you I go argue pro and con about， and to settle

    whether you are alive or no，

    I own publicly who you are， if nobody else owns.

    Grown， half-grown and babe， of this country and every

    country， indoors and out-doors， one just as much as

    the other， I see，

    And all else behind or through them.

    The wife， and she is not one jot less than the husband，

    The daughter， and she is just as good as the son，

    The mother， and she is every bit as much as the father.

    Offspring of ignorant and poor， boys apprenticed to trades，

    Young fellows working on farms and old fellows working on

    farms，

    Sailor-men， merchant-men， coasters， immigrants，

    All these I see， but nigher and farther the same I see，

    None shall escape me and none shall wish to escape me.

    I bring what you much need yet always have，

    Not money， amours， dress， eating， erudition， but as good，

    I send no agent or medium， offer no representative of value，

    but offer the value itself.

    There is something that comes to one now and perpetually，

    It is not what is printed， preach'd， discussed， it eludes

    discussion and print，

    It is not to be put in a book， it is not in this book，

    It is for you whoever you are， it is no farther from you

    than your hearing and sight are from you，

    It is hinted by nearest， commonest， readiest， it is ever

    provoked by them.