The workmanship of souls is by the inaudible words of the earth; The great masters know the earth's words, and use them more than the audible words. Amelioration is one of the earth's words; The earth neither lags nor hastens; It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump; It is not half beautiful only--defects and excrescences show just as much as perfections show. The earth does not withhold--it is generous enough; The truths of the earth continually wait, they are not so concealed either; They are calm, subtle, untransmissible by print; They are imbued through all things, conveying themselves willingly, Conveying a sentiment and invitation of the earth. I utter and utter: I speak not; yet, if you hear me not, of what avail am I to you? To bear--to better; lacking these, of what avail am I? _Accouche! Accouchez!_ Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there? Will you squat and stifle there? The earth does not argue, Is not pathetic, has no arrangements, Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise, Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures, Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out; Of all the powers, objects, states, it notifies, shuts none out. The earth does not exhibit itself, nor refuse to exhibit itself--possesses still underneath; Underneath the ostensible sounds, the august chorus of heroes, the wail of slaves, Persuasions of lovers, curses, gasps of the dying, laughter of young people, accents of bargainers, Underneath these, possessing the words that never fail. To her children, the words of the eloquent dumb great Mother never fail; The true words do not fail, for motion does not fail, and reflection does not fail; Also the day and night do not fail, and the voyage we pursue does not fail. 3. Of the interminable sisters, Of the ceaseless cotillons of sisters, Of the centripetal and centrifugal sisters, the elder and younger sisters, The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest. With her ample back towards every beholder, With the fascinations of youth, and the equal fascinations of age, Sits she whom I too love like the rest--sits undisturbed, Holding up in her hand what has the character of a mirror, while her eyes glance back from it, Glance as she sits, inviting none, denying none, Holding a mirror day and night tirelessly before her own face.