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Assurances.

 I NEED no assurances—I am a man who is preoccupied, of his own Soul; 
I do not doubt that from under the feet, and beside the hands and face I am cognizant of,
 are
 now looking faces I am not cognizant of—calm and actual faces; 
I do not doubt but the majesty and beauty of the world are latent in any iota of the
 world; 
I do not doubt I am limitless, and that the universes are limitless—in vain I try to
 think
 how limitless; 
I do not doubt that the orbs, and the systems of orbs, play their swift sports through the
 air
 on purpose—and that I shall one day be eligible to do as much as they, and more than
 they;
I do not doubt that temporary affairs keep on and on, millions of years; 
I do not doubt interiors have their interiors, and exteriors have their exteriors—and
 that
 the eye-sight has another eye-sight, and the hearing another hearing, and the voice
 another
 voice; 
I do not doubt that the passionately-wept deaths of young men are provided for—and
 that
 the deaths of young women, and the deaths of little children, are provided for; 
(Did you think Life was so well provided for—and Death, the purport of all Life, is
 not
 well provided for?) 
I do not doubt that wrecks at sea, no matter what the horrors of them—no matter whose
 wife, child, husband, father, lover, has gone down, are provided for, to the minutest
 points;
I do not doubt that whatever can possibly happen, any where, at any time, is provided for,
 in
 the inherences of things; 
I do not think Life provides for all, and for Time and Space—but I believe Heavenly
 Death
 provides for all.

by Walt Whitman
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