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Walt Whitman - Wandering At Morn
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WANDERING at morn,
Emerging from the night, from gloomy thoughts—thee in my thoughts,
Yearning for thee, harmonious Union! thee, Singing Bird divine!
Thee, seated coil`d in evil times, my Country, with craft and black
         dismay—with every meanness, treason thrust upon thee;
—Wandering—this common marvel I beheld—the parent thrush I
         watch`d, feeding its young,
(The singing thrush, whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic,
Fail not to certify and cheer my soul.)

There ponder`d, felt I,
If worms, snakes, loathsome grubs, may to sweet spiritual songs be
         turn`d,
If vermin so transposed, so used, so bless`d may be,               


Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my country;
—Who knows that these may be the lessons fit for you?
From these your future Song may rise, with joyous trills,
Destin`d to fill the world.
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