Bhagavad Gita 1

The Blessed Lord [Krishna], speaking to Arjuna:

Any offering -- a leaf,
a flower or fruit, a cup
of water--I will accept it
if given with a loving heart.

Whatever you do, Arjuna,
do it as an offering to me--
whatever you say or eat
or pray or enjoy or suffer.

In this way you will be freed
from all the results of your actions,
good or harmful; unfettered,
untroubled, you will come to me.

I am the same to all beings;
I favor none and reject none.
But those who worship me live
within me and I live in them.

O Captain! My Captain!

O captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.