Men do not so much differ. There is a universal language. What is heroic is universal among men. Love is universal among men. Liberty is—justice is—the hatred of meanness is, etc.

This is what you shall do:
Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches,
Give alms to everyone that asks,
Stand up for the stupid and crazy,
Devote your income and labor to others—
The sick cared for, the shoeless shod, the orphan father’d and mother’d,
The hungry fed, the houseless housed.
Have patience and indulgence toward the people,
Go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families,
Tender to children and old people and women,
Indulging most the stupid, the sinful, and the vulgar, because them the world is most down upon,
And your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

All help given to relatives, strangers, the poor, old, sorrowful, young children, widows, the sick, and to shunn’d persons,
All self-denial that stood steady and aloof on wrecks, and saw others fill the seats of the boats,
All offering of substance or life for the good old cause—liberty, justice, the cause of the people—or for a friend’s sake, or opinion’s sake,
All honest men baffled in strifes recorded or unrecorded,
All that is well thought or said this day on any part of the globe, or on any of the wandering stars, or on any of the fix’d stars, by those there as we are here,
All that is henceforth to be thought or done by you whoever you are, or by any one,
These inure, have inured, shall inure, to the identities from which they sprang, or shall spring,
Singly, wholly, affect now, will forever affect, all of the past and all of the present and all of the future.

If a man spatter mud on his new clothes by lifting a child or an old woman over the slush, let him nevertheless be content—
Mud like that strikes in and makes beauty spots.

I question whether a fellow has any excuse for hitting out right and left, fore and aft, on the slightest provocation. While it might do him good to hit, what about the man he hits?

How beautiful is candor!
The soul’s wealth is candor, knowledge, pride, enfolding love,
All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.
Henceforth let no man of us lie,
For we have seen that openness wins the inner and outer world and that there is no single exception.

It must not be written of us that we did not keep our promises!
(I am a poor hand to make promises—I never make a promise that I can avoid. I guess that’s the reason I never got married; if I had set apart a date I might have begged off when the date arrived.)

Gratitude has never been made half enough of by the moralists; it is indispensable to a complete character, man’s or woman’s—the disposition to be appreciative, thankful. Don’t forget to say thanks, thanks, thanks. Of my own life and writings I estimate the giving thanks part, with what it infers, as essentially the best item.
I should say the quality of gratitude rounds the whole emotional nature; I should say love and faith would quite lack vitality without it. There are people—shall I call them even religious people, as things go?—who have no such trend to their disposition. I pity ’em.

Curious in time I stand, noting the efforts of heroes,
I understand the large hearts of heroes,
The courage of present times, olden times, and all times—
Ever the heroes on water or on land, by ones or twos appearing,
Desperate and glorious, proofs of the never-broken line,
Courage, alertness, patience, faith, the same.
When I peruse the conquer’d fame of heroes, 
I think it the necessary thing—I almost pray for it—that each age should have its hero.

But I look in all men for the heroic quality; yes indeed—find it, too, it is so surely present. We need not go into Greece to know the heroes. Hercules, all the great figures—here they are, all of them—the equal of the best—waiting at our doors.
The common heroisms of life are anyhow the real heroisms, the impressive heroisms—not the military kind, not the political kind, just the ordinary world kind, the bits of brave conduct happening about us—things that don’t get into the papers—things that the preachers don’t thank God for in their pulpits—the real things, nevertheless—all the unheralded heroisms—the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known, the nobility of our everyday life, the only things that eventuate in a good harvest.

I know that the hero is after all greater than any idealization,
Just as the man is greater than his portrait,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero.
Why should I subscribe money to build some hero’s statue?
The butcher boy is just as great a hero—
The butcher boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market,
He does not know what fear is,
I remember what a brave boy he was,
And how, in any trouble, he never deserted me, but stood as staunch as steel.

The young man who composedly peril’d his life and lost it has done exceedingly well for himself—
What cheerful willingness for others’ sake to give up all,
For others’ sake to suffer all.
He who never peril’d his life, but retains it to old age in riches and ease, has probably achiev’d nothing for himself worth mentioning.

Where the great renunciation is made in secret, that will allure me—
To duly fall, to aid, unreck’d at last, to disappear, to serve,
Token of all that went down doing their duty.

Who has been bold and true?
For I would be the boldest and truest being of the universe,
He only wins who goes far enough.

Be bold! Be bold! Be not too bold!
It is well to know when to be firm against others’ wishes,
But it is better to know when to yield in a manly and amiable spirit.

Caution is the great need that is so long coming to young souls. When it comes, it puts an end forever to the freshest joys, and the thoughtless abandon, of their lives. Yet it is so useful in this wicked world, and we cannot get along without it.
Caution seldom goes far enough,
All great work is cautious work,
Done with an eye on all the horizons of the spirit,
Never claiming too much—always allowing for a beyond.

He is wisest who has the most caution,
Where thrift is in its place, and prudence is in its place,
Where equanimity is illustrated in affairs.
One significant point of all first-class men is caution—
Accept and try and listen, and don’t be too quick to reject,
But also, don’t accept too quickly.

Who has been cautious?
For I would be more cautious,
I am for caution, I am very cautious,
My caution has kept me out of many scrapes.
The largest part of our human tragedies are humanly avoidable,
They come from greed, from carelessness, from causes not elemental.

Remember the hospitality that belongs to nations and men;
Cursed be nation, woman, man, without hospitality.
This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,
It is for the wicked just same as the righteous,
The kept-woman, thief, venerealee are hereby invited,
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

Lend us, O nature, the children of the poor, the helpless infants, and the helpless old men and women, the ignorant, and the depraved—we can receive them—for them also we have preparation and welcome—we have not only welcome for the healthy.

Who has been benevolent? for I would show more benevolence than all the rest,
I have stores plenty and to spare, good temper and open-handedness,
And the habit of giving only enhances the desire to give.
I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs,
And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help,
I make appointments with all,
It is quite indifferent to me who you are,
I will not have a single person slighted or left away.

Anything I have I bestow, and the first I bestow of my love—
Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity,
When I give I give myself.
I, determined brother of low persons and rejected and wronged persons,
I have not thought myself better than the degraded and lost ones,
But rather pity and relieve them,
From this hour sleeping and eating mainly that I wake and be muscular for their sakes,
Training myself in the gymnasium for their sakes,
And acquiring a terrible voice for their sakes.

I know many beautiful things about men and women,
But I do not know of anything more beautiful than to be free-handed and generous,
And always go on the square.
A great man is not trapped into any partiality,
He goes on the square with those who have not yet climbed as high as he,
He strikes the balance between the eternal average of the developed and the undeveloped.

I go on the square for my own sake and for others’ sakes,
Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you, would that satisfy you?
Neither a servant nor a master I,
I take no sooner a large price than a small price—
I will be even with you and you shall be even with me.

Noiseless, with flowing steps, the lord, the sun, the last ideal comes,
By the names right, justice, truth, we suggest, but do not describe it.
To the world of men it remains a dream, an idea as they call it,
No dream is it to the wise,
But the proudest, almost only, solid lasting thing of all.

 NEXT: JUSTICE AND EQUALITY

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