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SMALL is the theme of the following Chant, yet the  
 greatest—namely, ONE'S-SELFthat wondrous  
 thing, a simple, separate person. That, for the  
 use of the New World, I sing.
Man's physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not  
 physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for  
 the muse;—I say the Form complete is worthier  
 far. The female equally with the male, I sing.
Nor cease at the theme of One's-Self. I speak the word  
 of the modern, the word EN-MASSE.
My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew  
 of hapless War.
O friend, whoe'er you are, at last arriving hither to com- 
 mence, I feel through every leaf the pressure of
 your hand, which I return. And thus upon our  
 journey link'd together let us go.
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