A SONG OF THE ALL

Brother, my Brother! whoever you are, Rocked in the atom and nursed in the star, Swaddled in flesh by the great Elohim— Lords of the Flame—and whose day is a dream Known in the night: O my Brother, all hail!

Hither a prophet, a priest or a slave, Came you, my Brother—a king or a knave, Black man or red man or brown man or white, Out of the land of an infinite light? Here are my heart and my hand to you: hail!

Are you a liar, a sycophant's self Sold for a shekel and pandering pelf? Are you a snob or a murderer, thief, Cringing to hell with the devil for chief? Here are my robe and my crown to you: hail!

Greet you, my Brother! for I am all things— Dust of the stars and the music of wings— Eyes of the angels and Lucifer's mouth— Wind of the North and a wind of the South— Here are my sandals and staff to you: hail!